


Glory and Gore

by Barumonster, octofied



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Death, Dubious Consent, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Frottage, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Moral Ambiguity, Oral Sex, Specific warnings will be in the chapter notes, Teenlock, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-04
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2018-02-19 20:33:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 27
Words: 226,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2401997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barumonster/pseuds/Barumonster, https://archiveofourown.org/users/octofied/pseuds/octofied
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The meek shall not inherit.</p><p>The story of Moriarty and Moran, from the very beginning.</p><p>(This fic is no longer updating.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Restless Autumn Air

**Author's Note:**

> **This will be updated every Saturday!**  
>     
> This is an RP between Razz (Octofied) playing Jim Moriarty and Baru (Barumonster) playing Sebastian Moran.
> 
> As an RP, it’s scripted by posts and they are separated by small markers so you know where I shut up and Razz begins.
> 
> Manymanymany thanks to [Hippano](http://hippano.tumblr.com/) for helping with beta~!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The meek shall not inherit.
> 
> The story of Moriarty and Moran, from the very beginning.

The first time Sebastian Moran ever laid eyes on James Moriarty was in Westminster.

Pure chance and a brand of bad luck. But not his.

The cafe is noisy with teenagers; a rowdy bunch of weekend escapees with pent up energy and loud, stadium voices to use it with. It's an amalgamation of dialects that surround him and echo off the walls of the too small space. His mates mostly and still they manage to be a bloody headache. Sebastian nurses his third cup of tea, sipping from china hung on the crook of his finger. He wants a cigarette but lighting one inside isn't the best of ideas, so it will have to wait a little longer for the enthusiasm of his mates to annoy the staff enough that someone suggests they take it elsewhere. If it isn't soon, that someone will be him.

Rugby players have a lot of energy, you might imagine. Especially the ones who spend day in and day out cooped up indoors, dressed in tails, studying Latin and how to be a proper Englishman in ten impossible steps. Not all of them are even English pureblood but it's standard. And Sebastian must look like he fits right in; Tall, toned and blond. A real blue eyed dream. Or at least the waitress seems to think so because she hasn't stopped staring for the last 40 minutes of their stay. Once in a while, his eyes flick her way and a sneaky smile creeps at the corner of his lips that makes her flush crimson and fluster to hide her face. She'd be a lot cuter in just the apron.

Bloody hell, he really just wants that fucking cigarette.

"-- to stop him! Right, Sebastian?"

He glances back to the table of boys, raising brows as they draw his attention. "What?"

"You're talkin' about sport, mate. He isn't listenin’."

Oliver Cotterill, sandy brown hair and hazel eyes. Pale as a speckled peach everywhere but his face and arms. Not the stupidest of the lot, but not the smartest either. He's got an estuary tongue that gets too thick when he's away from Eton. It took him years worth of frustrated beaks to get it whittled down to almost but not really posh.

"I prefer to play the game, not talk about it." Sebastian sets his cup of tea down. It's empty anyway, he just hadn't noticed yet. His elbows dig the table, strands of blond fallen against his forehead.

"See?" The older Cotterill laughs and the others follow up with grins and shakes of their head that must be telling of some inside joke everyone knows about but him.

"Nah, he's been checking ou' that girl."

Finley Cotterill. Looks like his older brother mostly, just with a smaller nose and half the body mass. No tan lines from rugby gear either, even though he's an enthusiast and the stories about practice were being told for him. Might have something to do with the wheelchair. Oliver insists he won't be bound in it forever but Sebastian can't remember if Finley played before it; probably. And probably never again.

They're laughing. "Of course he is. Don't blink, or we'll see him coming out of the back room with her."

Sebastian chuckles softly and sits back, lifting elbows off the table to cross arms over his chest. "If the lot of you weren't boring me to death, it wouldn't be an issue."

"Are we too slow for you, Sebastian?"

Darian Nicolas. More dark hair, eyes pale green this time. Probably the best looking boy at the table. He's got rich Greek in his blood and the olive tan to prove it; one of those faces where everything is perfectly cut or perfectly smooth and disgustingly symmetrical and if you dressed him like a woman, he'd pass if it weren't for that jaw line. Problem is, he also knows it, and not in the way Sebastian does. Everything is a competition and he wants to win it.

Except Darian isn't Sebastian, not in a game of wits and not in the game of speed.

"I don't want to be inside all day, let's do something exciting." And Sebastian usually is the first one to suggest a bit of trouble, so no one looks surprised except mockingly.

"Exciting, he says!" Cotterill, always first to open his mouth. For a colleger, he fits right in with the privileged lot. And possibly the most tolerable for it.

"Isn't that Sebastian's code for 'let's get drunk'?" Darian is shifting in his seat already, like he's on the move at the very suggestion. No surprises there, either, and as spirited as he can be on the average, he makes for a nearly intolerable drunk. Still fun, because by the time he's so far gassed, so is Sebastian and it makes for a thrilling game of competitive stupidity.

Sebastian's grin goes wide and he unfolds his arms to set his hands on the table. "Now there's an idea."

Their third Eton mate is already sliding out of the booth with a jump in his leather step. Also not surprising, since he's pent up like Sebastian but in the worst of ways. Full of denial about his rebellious spirit. Sebastian may start trouble but their center, Edwin, is usually the first to jump in and make it a real mess.

"Well, you heard the man."

Now there's Cotterill to convince, because if he goes, his little brother certainly will and so will their last man. Peer pressure: majority rules. Sebastian leans forward a little more and the pair of them stare at each other, the blond flashing white between the slip of a sideways grin that promises all the fun they’ll have. Cotterill looks hesitant, he always is. Even if he inevitably dives in with the rest, there's always a wariness for getting in trouble, as if his status as a colleger puts him on thinner ice than the rest of the Etonians. Which it probably does and on more than one occasion, one of their lot has stuck out their neck to keep him off it.

And maybe, it also has something to do with the influence on his little brother, who sits in his wheelchair leaned forward and waiting like a tail wagging puppy expecting to be told it's time for a walk. No puns intended.

Cotterill's tongue slides over his teeth and it's a rather ugly habit of his, that sucking sound he makes when he's trying to fight himself with logic and reason. But he knows he wants to and he knows Finley does as well. There’s a hush.

"Well, what are we sitting around for?"

Everyone hisses excitement and cheers, bouncing in their places as if they'd been waiting on baited breath. Sebastian slaps his hands down on the table with triumph as they all start to rise, everyone of affluence tossing a pile of notes between their plates and cups; it's probably too much but no one cares. Darian has already grabbed up the reigns of Finley's chair and rolled him back from the table while Oliver shimmies out of the round booth but Sebastian doesn't wait; he climbs up onto the table, stepping on quid between the dishware and jumping down at the opening of the bench seats.

"You should really listen to me more often."

Seb glances down at Oliver as he's standing up from the table seating; upright, he's several inches taller, standing at 189cm over Cotterill's 178. Sebastian is the tallest boy here.

"Don't we always listen to you?" Oliver looks incredulous.

"Then don't stop now." Sebastian shrugs, laughing too proudly for a makeshift leader. On their way by, he winks at the waitress and watches her shy away hurriedly to the tune of his amused laugh.

Out on the pavement, the first thing he does is light that damn cigarette.

\---

Saturdays in Westminster, the streets of central London are crowded with students out of school, both public and independent, milling about to find a moments entertainment before they are forced back into those stuffy halls of higher learning. Jim has long since discovered it’s best to avoid certain areas on the weekends; the crowds of teenagers are bothersome and stretch thin the already little patience he has. But this part of London has many libraries for him to hole up in, or the Planetarium if he can manage to scrounge up the coin for admission. Students tend to avoid places like that, preferring to spend their precious little free time in places like cinemas and parks.

Jim doesn’t get along with most people his age. Or people who are older. Or people who are younger. The lot of them are idiots, not worth the effort it takes to draw in the breath needed to form the words “Sod off.”

His choice library this afternoon is holding a craft fair for a throng of snotty primary schoolers, and Jim can’t beat a retreat quick enough. Fall in London is already rather chilly, and the small, dark haired boy wears two layers of threadbare jumpers over his skinny frame, several sizes too big and several years out of style. The only decent clothes he has is his uniform, and wandering around in that on the weekend only asks for trouble, so hand me downs knicked from thrift stores make up the bulk of his wardrobe.

Shouldering a worn rucksack up over his shoulder, Jim weaves in and out of crowds milling about on the sidewalk, head down to not draw any attention to himself. Pale skin is sallow and sickly looking, not helped by the sunken in eyes ringed in shadow that speak of not only poor sleeping habits, but poor nutrition as well. A halo of unruly black hair can’t be tamed if he tries, and all in all, he looks more like a street urchin than anything. But that only helps to keep strangers away, and to get handouts from the bakery or grocery stands when they close up late at night.

Now though, the only thing on his mind is heading for the next nearest library to hole up for the rest of the afternoon reading, and maybe snag a few pastries from the sweet old lady who ran the Primrose Bakery on his way home.

It’s not on the gaggle of Etonian boys spilling out onto the sidewalk from a cafe across the street, who by all rights, he should most definitely be avoiding because that little one in the wheelchair sits there because of Jim. A fellow student at Westminster school with Jim, and certainly not one he gets along with if his broken legs are of any evidence.

Finley Cotterill.

Grades slipping, no hope of following after his brother to Eton. His family could only afford to send one kid, especially if the second’s marks were atrocious. Rather than actually spending his time studying, he figured it was easier to try and buy the answers to tests off of kids who took them before he did. Unfortunately, he aimed his attention on Jim, the student in school with the highest marks. He surely looked like he could have used the the extra notes.

First he had tried to befriend him.

But this is Jim so that didn’t work. He just ignored Finley’s hellos and left the lunch table when he was bold enough to take a seat. Finley got real irritable about it, real quick. So after a day or so, he just started bothering Jim. Annoying him rather, obnoxiously begging or offering stuff, trying to figure out what he wanted. He must have offered everything under the sun and Jim would barely more than stare before walking away. And when that didn’t work, Finley got mean.

It started with insults. He tried to bully Jim; a nudge here, standing in his way there, starting class laughter with underhanded comments. After a week or two, they had another test of some kind and he failed it, so he got desperate and angry and decided to take it out on Jim. He finally started shoving, like it was somehow Jim’s fault for not helping him. Hounding him, messing with him during lunches and in the halls until there was no peace left but the lectures.

Jim put up with him shoving, so Finley got braver and started really knocking him around and trying to force him physically; do it or get hurt. The day before another test, he finally took an angry swing.

Jim finally struck back, pushing Finley off him, which escalated to a scuffle. Jim wasn’t much for throwing fists, so it was more about him trying to scramble away as the other boy wailed on him, raining down blows as Jim wriggled free and ran for the fire escape in the hall. It lead up to the roof, and with such little time, the only solution he could manage was tossing the kid over the ledge to the shrubbery below.

It didn’t do a stellar job breaking his fall. It did however, break both legs and give him little chance of ever recovering enough to walk on his own again.

Finley was never smart, but he wasn’t stupid enough to implicate Jim as the reason he’d taken a swan dive off the school.

\---

Not his bad luck.

"Oliver- Oliver!"

The train of bulky boys have only just begun intense, argumentative discussions about where they are going to spend their day drinking and which is the better place to pick up a bottle of whatever, which really falls to one:

Edwin Stanbury. English as English gets. Dark brown mop and bright blue eyes. Shorter but thicker in build. Posh as the royal family, he's practically wearing a casual suit for an afternoon outing. Probably the best centre the team has though. He’s the only one of the lot who's turned 18 already and he doesn’t miss an opportunity to make use of it.

Finley's sudden, hurried call to his brother cuts through their heated debates and Oliver spins around like he thought his brother might be rolling into the street, but Darian is still at the chair handles, keeping him in place.

"Oliver! That's him- that's the kid!"

He’s pointing across the pavement to the opposite side. There are a few people there but only one Sebastian would call a kid. Slouched, sunken and staring downward.

"What kid, Fin? What are you on abou’?"

Sebastian blows a stream of smoke lazily, watching the figure as people step around him like he’s a diseased rat skittering across the pavement. He’s small and thin and rather non-threatening.

"The kid who pushed me! Off the roof, Oli, that's him. James."

He hisses the name and Sebastian's brows rise, turning his glance down to Finley questioningly. He wasn’t the only one confused.

"Pushed?"

But Oliver is immediately stricken; stiff, hands bawled, muscles so tensed under his long sleeves you could practically see the tendons flexing beneath fabric. He's not alone in this turn of attitude and no surprise there because Edwin has taken on the pair of boys like the brothers he never had and Darian- well, he’s always looking for a reason to show off. Unlike their silent fourth, who still seems as questioning as Sebastian.

"Are you sure? That's the kid, Fin?" Everyone has turned now to watch the boy who's been pointed out; he’s getting further away while they stand stationary. Finley begins to push himself down the pavement, before Darian catches on to make things go faster with his stronger strides. Everyone follows, even Sebastian.

"I'm sure, Oli! That's the bloody nutter who shoved me off the roof!" He’s gesturing frantically with one hand and Darian has to brakecheck the wheel with his boot to stop him from veering off.

"I thought he fell?" Sebastian makes another interjection, like maybe his memory has served him wrong. Strong distinction between push and fall; why isn't the kid locked up if he was mad enough to cripple someone? Anyway, look at him-

"No, mate." Oliver bloody near spits, his accent thickening as he gets angry, like it was possible. "Tha’s jus' what he told everyone first cause he's afraid'a tha' kid."

Sebastian wants to scoff- "him?"

"Oli!" Finley cuts them off and the older Cotterill finally half jogs to get in front of his brother’s wheelchair, Fin’s busted legs stopping against his brother's healthy shins. Oliver points at his brother with a jerk of his freckled hand.

"Stay here, Fin." A direct order, turning and gesturing for his rugby mates to follow.

"Bloody sock him, Oli!" But there is no way Fin is staying put and Sebastian lingers back in his steps like he’s the only one who can rationalize fast enough to question this sudden manhunt. Swearing around his cigarette, he picks up his pace to stop Finley from recklessly rolling after the other boys as they cross without a proper light or much waiting. He could hear them chattering excitedly- what are you going to do, Oli? We've got your back. Let's see him try that on the ground.

When Cotterill hits the pavement on the other side of the street, he takes off after the kid.

"Grab him!" Is the last thing Sebastian hears over a car honking at him and Finley as they hurry across to follow.

\---

Jim pauses at a corner light with the traffic, looking up only to time the change of the lights. It was then he hears the cries of the boys mobbing behind him, and he turns, eyes flicking over the flock of teens, Etonians by the look of them. His brow furrows in momentary confusion until he looks past them and sees a tall blond wheeling a younger boy across the street.

Finley.

Jim’s eyes flick to the boy at the head of the gang, and it’s obvious he’s the injured classmate’s brother. There isn’t a moment more of hesitation, Jim turns down the street and runs, ignoring the direction he’d been intending to head for the library. Now the only thing on his mind is survival. Anxiety and panic send a rush of cold washing down his spine, and all the maps of London in his brain are a blur as he whips past storefronts and weaves through a crowd that mills lazily like cattle. They impede his get away like boulders, and Jim makes the mistake of cutting down an alleyway.

Because it’s a dead end with a chain link fence that towers over it at the far side.

Jim scrambles to the barrier and jumps up to try and climb over it, his brain screaming at him to find a way past, hands clutching at the metal which bites into his soft skin. Hauling himself up over it is an impossible feat; Jim is weak to begin with and already exhausted from sprinting down the street away from his pursuers. He drops back down to the ground and changes his strategy, looking around desperately to find something to defend himself with.

\---

It might have been a bigger mistake just trying to run but who can say standing there in broad daylight would have helped the boy much. It's unfortunate enough to be chased without the fact that these are athletic boys, built for two things; agility and strength.

Cotterill dashes after the small brunet as he takes off and Sebastian loses them around a corner while he hurries to try and keep up with Finley as his burden. Stanbury and Nicolas are not as fast as Cotterill, but their fifth player, Ward, manages to keep on his tail and the four go barreling through people carelessly, trying to stay on the kid's tracks. But they've got him, like a pack of snarling beasts, cornered down an alleyway he mistakenly takes a turn down.

The four rugby players spread out like a play formation, heaving for breath but none so much as the too scrawny kid they stalk towards with the confidence that he can't escape but a wariness of approaching a cornered animal.

"You’re the little fucker who hurt my brother, are you? Bet you thought you got away with that."

Oliver is usually a rather reasonable kid. Usually. But he's got a streak of temper that flares up once and again, when he's pushed too hard on the field, or in defense of his little brother. Darian and Edwin's excuses are about as short as the palms of their hands; they like being the hero. Whether that means on the field or in so called justice for someone else; usually a cute girl. Ward just doesn't seem to have a mind of his own much and if he does, he shuts up about it.

And that leaves Sebastian, who finds the alley they've come down and releases Finley at the opening of it, moving down the stretch in a quick stride as Oliver gives Nicolas and Stanbury a gesture. It's so obnoxiously like a bully to use play signals for sport as a weapon but there it is, the pair of them lunge in like loose dogs on a mangy cat, wrestling whatever defense the kid tries to take up and grappling him by his arms, locking him in place. It's overkill, really. One of them could have held him down. Sebastian isn't convinced they could blow on him and he'd still stand upright.

The older Cotterill glances over his shoulder as Sebastian comes up beside him, practically looming like a shadow over the scene. Finley rolls up nearby, craning to get a look.

"This exciting enough for you, Sebastian?"

He shoots Oliver a short glance but his eyes go right back to the kid, fingers pulling his cigarette from his lips to blow smoke into the air. He's tiny in every way possible next to the pair that hold him. Body mass, height. Draped in layers that hang too lose and practically sickly underneath it all but there's more than that. Something unsettling enough to put a shiver down your spine.

\---

His heart beats in his throat as the boys advance of him, and he must have picked the least cluttered alley in all of London. There is nothing to swoop up for defense, nothing to wedge behind like a shield. There’s only the chain link fence, and it’s cold and unforgiving at his back, swaying beneath his scant weight. It almost pushes him up into the reaching hands that pull at his arms in vice like grips, wrestling him to the ground with their combined strength.

Jim struggles to pull his limbs free, but it’s futile. There’s too many of them, and he is no match for a pack of strong, athletic boys. Jim doesn’t give them the satisfaction of screaming or pleading. No, there is only a stare of such intense hatred; it seems to create its own heat.

“You will all regret it, for the rest of your life.”

He looks at each boy, memorizing their faces. He won’t forget a single one.

That glare could scar on its own, but soon enough its locked behind a wall.

There is nothing there on Jim’s face, he’s completely retreated inside of himself, safe within thick barriers that crash down and separate himself from whatever trauma is about to happen to his body.

\---

Those are not the words of a coward. Clear cut and lade with an Irish accent. They are fearless; the kind of threat that antagonizes because it's practically absurd, given the extremely unlikely odds of this fight. It suggests in a single sentence that they have already failed in their point. That nothing they can do to him will have meaning.

There's no regret on that boy's face, just hatred. And then, nothing. Like a light switch snapped off, there's nothing.

The pause isn't as long as it feels to Sebastian. It's mere seconds of seething outrage before Oliver puffs himself up so much that spittle hisses from his clenched teeth and he moves in the same breath he speaks with.

"Yours is going to be a shor' one!"

The first hit comes so fast to the boy's mouth that the pair holding him don't have time to brace themselves for the way it resonates through skin and bone to their locked arms. It's pure luck of draw for that boy that Cotterill doesn't know how to throw a proper punch and manages to hurt himself in the same swing. The next one is softer for it, he aims for something less sharp and hits him in the belly; a poor angle to go into, given the height difference. It weakens the blow, but doubles him over and they push him down to his knees where Oliver sticks a trainer in his side.

Sebastian takes a clear breath and part of him wants to glance away but the other half is fixed. It's horrendous, really and he tells himself that uncomfortable feeling is for the pisspoor form of Oliver's blows and not the horrific way they outweigh this boy by every means possible. Not for the look which bore down into his spine when he passed a black eyed gaze across each and every one of them like the devil taking names.

They might be cheering him on, the others. Oliver might be grunting or uttering threat and bile under his breath, angry at the universe and this boy for ruining his brother's future, his life, without ever considering what that was a consequence of. They might be, but Sebastian isn't listening, he's reading; watching like a scene played on cinema in mute. It's not about what's said, it's about what's done.

Cotterill's fourth hit comes strangely across the temple and it's obvious he has no idea what he's doing, neither is his head really into it, just his angry heart. He's probably never assaulted someone in his life if it wasn't on a field and if the game was slamming shoulders into people, he'd win. Instead, it's a complete cock-up; he hurts his own fist on thick bone and hisses, drawing his hand back and shaking it. He gestures for their fourth teammate to take over:

Quinten Ward. The freckled ginger with green eyes who is the quietest of the whole lot but sharp with numbers. He could whip out an answer to an equation in moments, just don't ask him to write you a sonnet; no imagination, really. He’s usually the calm sort who could say a surprisingly dim bit now and again but even he’s scowling like a angry dog. He hesitates until Oliver barks something that’s supposed to work as encouragement.

Maybe it's a reminder about Finley, who sits forward in his chair looking too pleased with himself. Months worth of frustration and anger being relieved by every strike. Quinten hits the restrained boy in the face and it cuts his cheek open; more solid than Cotterill's attempts at slugging. They both start kicking into his legs, outer thighs and inner, against the knees, some harder blows than others. One catches under his ribs. So there's another quiet talent of Quinten Ward.

Sebastian finally glances away, nursing another heavy drag of his slow burning cigarette. He hears the next punch and by the thickness of the sound, probably an eye.

"Christ Cotterill, could you move it along? I don't want to stand around and watch you commit manslaughter all day."

Sebastian's voice has never drawled so much as it does then. Speaking out a haze of smoke, sounding bored, exasperated. Oliver turns to look at him, babying his fingers and he doesn't see that everyone else snaps their attention on Sebastian as well; everyone but Finley, who's gloating grins at the assaulted kid. The blows stop.

"Well, you could lend a hand, Sebastian. Speed things up a bi'. I know you go' a swing on ya."

The thickness of his estuary cut is so irritating.

Sebastian has never been the kind that looks for any reason at all to fight. But if he's got one, he scratches at it like a scab until it's gushing in his hands. He's got a bad history of picking at old wounds of his. One in particular.

But this isn't his fight.

"I'd rather not get clinked for some kid."

And if his tone wasn't so flat, if his voice had wavered any and if he wasn't who he was and they all knew it, they'd have turned on him for being a coward. But each and every one knew that Moran was no bitch and the implication would turn this into a different assault. He may not have quandary with the boy, but he sure as bloody hell will sock any prat who thought him weak.

"Tch." Cotterill turned his gaze back on the kid, shoving Ward aside to make clear as he threw another awkward kick at the kid's stomach. Sebastian almost cringes; instead, he just blows out another stream of smoke. His cigarette is almost nothing, he has to switch his hold to pinch it between his fingers for the last suck of any poison left but it doesn't give him what he's hoping for. He tosses it to the ground, grinding it under boot toe, aloof.

"Maybe try not to kill him, Cotterill. You won’t be much use to your brother getting locked up either."

It's not helping. Not even when you know they'll listen to you. It's not sympathy.

Oliver pauses and turns a look on Fin, who is dampened by the sudden reality of that idea. It's dull to wonder if he has regrets, but he certainly sits back in his chair and looks half sour and half pleased with himself.

"What would you know, Sebastian, you're an only child."

It's bitter because he knows. Sebastian just shrugs and starts to turn on his thick rubber heel, reaching into pocket, fondling out another cigarette; he tucks one behind his ear and another in his lips. A metal lighter strikes aflame- delays. Words sinking in.

Oliver turns around again and hits the scrawny boy another time across the cheek; harder this one, enough the waver the grasp on his outstretched arms because the other two are paying attention to the wrong person. Cotterill gestures for them to let go and they intentionally drag him to his feet just to shove him back into the chain link, as if it's necessary. As if he might have still held himself upright or even had the energy in that sickly little figure to fight back. This wasn't a fight, it was just the start of a massacre.

"If I ever see you again, I'll do worse than break your legs."

Oliver quite literally gathers saliva in his mouth and spits on him. Then he turns away sharply as if he has to leave immediately before he changes his mind and makes good on his threat right there. But he won't. Heart of heart, Oliver isn't a killer.

The other three are on his heel, uttering ugly, spiteful things or saying naught. Darian sharp toes the kid's knee with his Docs rather intentionally before he goes. Finley spits at him too, a mimic of his brother. He lingers for another gloating moment, chin upturned, glaring down his nose before turning himself around in a wide swing of his metal chair.

And that leaves Sebastian, blowing the first trail of his fresh cigarette into the air.

\---

It’s white noise.

The rush of blood in his ears might as well be water, waves beating against him. He’s tumbling through the tide, smashed against the rocks by the waves. Not a single sound escapes him. Fists and boots do not draw a single whimper or gasp, and there are no pleading cries. Jim’s body is limp, and the fact he doesn’t tense against each blow makes him absorb the shock better.

The insults ring out over his head, but Jim is miles away.

Nothing registers.

Blood streams from his nose and mouth, puddles on the concrete below him. His pale skin is already bruising, blossoms of red and deep purples spreading over every inch of flesh that had been worked beneath knuckles and leather tipped boots.

And yet still there is no sound from him save for the lingering threat that hangs in the air over head.

Not even the spit rouses him from his silence, and as he’s thrown into the fence, a limp body just falls upon the dusty concrete. By then Jim isn’t anywhere, for conscious thought has completely left him, blacked out from the pain and stress of it all.

\---

A massacre.

There's something wicked, something eerie about it. He's just a heap of scrawny limbs tangled in baggy clothing, drips and puddles of fresh blood slipping to dirty pavement. He may as well be dead for the way he rag dolls on the alley floor, abandoned.

Something doesn't sit right in Sebastian's chest. It isn't pity. It's disjointed, like a shutter window on one hinge, hanging by nails too strong to just let go. It's too familiar a feeling, except it's not his own this time.

Sebastian turns away, headed out of the alley in long delayed step after the boys who stalk like accomplished hunters to celebrate their victory. He's still breathing so he knows they didn't kill the kid despite the fact they very well could have even without intention to do so. It isn't guilt, he hasn't the connection in his brain for that; you have to care to feel guilt. But it sits crooked inside of him and he keeps his steps slow in the wake of the others even though he never glances back.

On the pavement, as they pass by people who have no clue what kind of war has been raged, Sebastian nurses a harder, thoughtful drag of his cigarette, letting smoke fill every corner of his lungs before he breathes it out again in thick streams. A hand reaches out, snatching up the wrist of a teenage girl in a pack of three and it startles her to a halt. She can't be outraged, especially when she looks at him, flabbergasted and immediately flushing. Maybe she's expecting him to flirt; he doesn't give her the time to talk, his voice is low and husky, not really a whisper but none the less, personal.

"Call an ambulance."

He doesn't let her go, waiting for confirmation as her friends all turn and look at them with surprised question and guarded tongues.

"Excuse me?" She stumbles out, looking him over and he passes for plenty sane in his clean v-neck and jeans, a collar half popped on a casual jacket. Put together, a handsome boy. That equates to sanity, doesn't it?

"There's a kid, in the alley. Call an ambulance." Blond head gestures back the way he came and they follow the gesture with bewildered stares. She acknowledges her understanding when she looks back at him and gives a small, surprised nod. She must be expecting more.

And then he's gone. Her arm is released and he keeps walking, weaving around people to keep up with the boys who are too pumped by their own bloody triumphs to notice that he's fallen back.

Those girls, they peer down the alley and make startled noises before frantically searching for the nearest phone booth to page help.

\---

When Jim wakes up, he’s in the hospital. The ceiling is stark white, as are the crisp bed linens that feel as heavy as boulders lying on top of his chest. Yet when he shifts to remove them, there is nothing but painful protest in his sore limbs that bring him back down flat against the stiff pillow. He silently takes survey of his body; nothing seems broken, though certainly his ribs are bruised up one side. He isn’t hooked to any IV, and the plastic ID bracelet on his wrist identifies him as John Doe. Jim has no wallet, is too young for a license at fifteen.

He could stay here till they turn him out, and sleep in a semi decent bed. But the cost of that are innumerous questions, ones that Jim has no intention of answering. He sighs at the sandy feel of his mouth, and the taste of old copper pennies on his tongue. He must have been here for hours. He’s no idea how he got here, but most likely he was found in the alley by someone and an ambulance was called. There are good people out there, but Jim doesn’t put his faith in them.

He lays a few minutes longer before forcing himself to move through the screams of his aching muscles and climbs off the bed. He moves to the small cabinet and sorts through what is left of his clothing. One of the jumpers has been thrown away, probably too soaked in blood to salvage. Off the hospital gown is tugged, and Jim dresses through the pain. He isn’t staying, he’s vulnerable here.

He leaves the room and heads for the stairs down the hall. A sign on the wall informs him he is at St. Bart’s, which means he is still in central London. He can make it home. It’s late, the lack of light streaming in from the windows tells him that. But he is determined to get home and lick his wounds.

\---

What do rowdy teenagers do after they've just assaulted someone? Hoot and holler and gather in their favorite drinking spot to get plastered for a couple of hours, apparently. Puffed up chests and grins abound like they've conquered great evil and it isn't that unreasonable, is it? This was supposed to be the a kid who shoved another boy off the roof and broke his legs in so many places he may never have use of them on their own again.

And how did it get to that point?

Sebastian knows Finley. He's known him for a couple of years now, mostly by the words of his older brother and through weekends like this. He knows that Finley is passionate about sport and little else. That he is lazy and makes terrible marks; he makes a lot of wishes out loud that he doesn't really intend to put the effort towards accomplishing. He knows Finley is like his brother, reasonable mostly, until he isn't. Easily stressed. And easily dismissing when he doesn't care.

When it happened, Sebastian remembers everyone being upset. The whole team was sympathetic to Cotterill and everyone signed a stupid Rugby jersey as a get well gift while Finley was in the hospital. And then there was cold Moran, who gave the elder brother a calculated pat on the back to evade the accusation that he was completely frigid but the fact of it was, he just hadn't felt... troubled.

Sebastian operates on a disconnect. Just now, it's a fuzzy one that's starting to blur heavily on the lines because heavy thoughts are just better reasons to drink. Sebastian is usually a happy drunk, the kind that washes out the cold spirit and everyone is none the wiser. The day goes on and everyone seems to put it aside. Finley goes home because he doesn't stay in the Westminster dorms anymore and the rest of them return to Eton and make a dive around the Dames so their intoxication isn't noticed.

Sebastian writes that night and falls asleep mid story about great big beasts that travel in packs- when he wakes up on Sunday, he can't remember the train of thought anymore and it goes unfinished.

Days go by. Days turn into weeks. Everyone seems to forget. All but Sebastian, who writes of small birds and dreams of dark eyes and rag dolls, of blood and spit and blossoming bruises under pallor skin. Of a fearless boy who does not cry or whimper or flinch at the bite and bark of great big dogs that come to shred him apart.

\---

Not everyone but Sebastian forgets.

Jim remembers.

It’s a week worth of healing that keeps him out of school, but his grades are good enough that it doesn’t hurt his marks. He has that week to plan, to research. And then he’ll destroy. He has no lasting injuries, but they will. Every last one. He warned them, but they didn’t listen. And that’s their folly.

He takes his time, tailoring each punishment to the boy they are intended for.

Edwin Stanbury:

Easy enough. Jim blackmails a girl from his own school to attend a weekend party he will be present for, flirt him up, and give him a drink spiked with drain cleaner. He knocks it back quickly without questioning it, and within seconds, his lips blister and the caustic liquid burns through the membrane of his throat. It poisons his liver and though an ambulance is called and his life is saved, he’s forced to attend dialysis three times a week to clean his body’s blood, as it can no longer do it on its own.

Darian Nicolas:

Cherishes his good looks. Jim has access to the chemistry labs at his school, and pockets hydrochloric acid after a class on mixing dangerous chemicals. Darian is on a date at the cinema with a handsy girl and excuses himself to the loo to clean himself up after sloppy handjob. Jim follows him in and they stare at each other for a panicked second before he throws the acid at his face, melting off sloughs of skin and leaving muscle exposed. He is no longer handsome, even with numerous skin grafts taken from his arse.

Quinten Ward:

This one Jim will regret, if only mildly. Hunts the woods around Eton one weekend till he finds a fine specimen of a hornet’s nest and scoops it into a hat box. He visits the dorms under the guise of a student’s cousin, and finds Quin’s room. Leaves the hornets nest nestled beneath his pillow, and when the boy collapses onto his bed at night, he smashes the hive beneath him and the hornets swarm out, stinging him relentlessly. He suffers anaphylaxis from the onslaught of venom, and they manage to administer adrenaline at the hospital to save his life, but it scars his heart and leaves him with a condition that makes it impossible to even run without being out of breath. Jim only regrets it, because it was a very nice specimen of a wasp’s nest he was forced to ruin.

Oliver Cotterill:

Oliver. The one who organized the attack. He thought he was avenging his poor little brother, who deserved what came to him. His attack is more personal. Jim follows him through the city till he passes by that same alley, and then smacks him across the back of the head with a cricket bat. He drags him back into the alley, the concrete still dark from where Jim’s blood stained it. With a switchblade, he cuts through the tendons of Oliver’s palms; a clean slice to sever them. He won’t be able to make a fist and hit anyone ever again, let alone play rugby. It’s ironic really. His brother lost use of his legs, and he loses the use of his hands. Maybe it’s just poetic. Jim is kind enough to call an ambulance to come for him before he bleeds out.

Someone called him one after all.


	2. Miscalculations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To be hunted.
> 
> The story of Moriarty and Moran, from the very beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This will be updated every Saturday!**
> 
> Thanks goes out to [Hippano](http://hippano.tumblr.com/) and [Nocturnalgrimoire](http://nocturnalgrimoire.tumblr.com/) for beta and editing!

The first incident shocks everyone.

Even Sebastian has to admit it's surprising to hear that Edwin managed to get poisoned. All the riches in the world can't fix that liver without a transplant and so much damage was done on the way down that it's considered a hazardous option. And wasteful of an organ.

There's speculation floating about the team that it was someone with a grudge on them. The girl- sloshed drunk- doesn't seem to remember enough to tell a proper story. Anyone at all could have handed her a laced shot and she could have been the intended victim. Unfathomable that she did it herself. Edwin was one of the prime and he didn't seem to have the time to be creating personal vendettas against him. None that anyone else knew of anyway.

He left Eton after the incident, bound in the hospital for weeks. Irreparable damage.

Darian.... The second attack hardly a week later came as an outrageous shock to most. But Sebastian couldn't tell what seemed like their biggest reason to mourn: the pain and the damaging effect it would have on his life or the loss of his beauty. He had once been a gorgeous boy. The type you might suspect a model at first glance and if he hadn't been so devastatingly straight, Sebastian would have enjoyed seeing that perfect mouth on his cock. Now Darian could scarcely be glanced at without a cringe. It was absolutely crippling, his entire identity stripped away from him in mere seconds. Tragically romantic. There is no doubt he knew who his attacker was, but he never spoke a word of it. Only sobbed quietly in muffled hisses through tubes and destroyed tissues. Everyone talks hush hush about the horrible coincidence of not only two of Eton's own but prized rugby mates being attacked. Sebastian doesn't believe in such violent coincidence. Darian does not return to Eton. Irreparable damage.

Two weeks pass by before Quinten is hauled off to the hospital late one evening. This time there were plenty of witnesses, including Sebastian who shared the same House. Both floors of the building could hear the ruckus. Quinten managed to scramble his way to the door and collapse in the hallway, letting the hornets loose for a few others to get stung when they tried to help him. The writhing of this overgrown boy as he went into shock probably gave some of the others nightmares, or at least a lifelong fear of flying insects. Sebastian remembers the sounds mostly; tortured wails and sobbing, more noise than he could ever remember Quinten making in all the years they knew each other. Then he grew tolerably quiet again.

This time it happened on Eton's doorstep and everyone began to think less of coincidences. There was new suspect that it was done by someone at the school and ghost stories began popping up. Ridiculous really. But now Sebastian is convinced here is absolutely no coincidence at all. Quinten does not return Eton because the walks between the widely spread classes are surely dangerous for a heart being tenderly healed. Irreparable damage.

Maybe he should have warned Oliver when he figured it out. And why didn't he...? Well. Coterill should have figured it out himself, he wasn't that dimwitted. It's so obvious; a single common link. But Oliver has forgotten amongst his grief because unlike Sebastian, he mourns and cries and all Moran can do is stare and pat him on the back. Oliver was careless at a time he shouldn't be.

Sebastian could have told him but he had his own concerns. He was damn near paranoid; double checking his steps, his room, everything he owned, yet somehow he knew that no method would be repeated. And maybe, maybe a _tiny_ little part of him was oh so curious to see what would happen next.

A shame really that Eton's staff still hadn't set the weekend outings on restriction because it might have saved Oliver but they were making an effort not to spread panic amongst the rather affluent families. Not that it stopped them from knowing. This is London, news travels fast in high society. A terribly large amount of gossip and slander but it's awfully difficult to muddy up the name of the most famous school in England. So, the headmaster then. He’s an easier target.

And poor, dull Oliver. First the youngest and now the oldest. His family is devastated. And it really is horribly, achingly poetic because now the two of them will always have to come to each other's aid.

Just like the others Oliver will take weeks of treatment, probably months of physical therapy and he will never really have his hands back, even if he manages to pinch a pencil. Which he won't. Irreparable damage.

And there is no one left but Sebastian.

His dreams have changed, that bird is no longer so tiny. It is a Corvidae; sometimes a crow, sometimes a raven, but most often a magpie because there is more than hollow black to those feathers. Blue veins under pale white. Blossoming bruises. And only when it spreads its wings can you see the brilliance.

Sebastian decides he isn't going to wait around to become the next sob story at Eton. A few weeks go by while the school is on temporary restriction but the moment he has freedom Sebastian goes out intending to be hunted.

\---

Jim hears of the lockdown and knows not to waste his time for a few weeks. That’s fine because he’s starting to get tired of all this vengeance as it is. Clearing London of his attackers for good has proved to be quite the task. When he heads out again, he’s in a threadbare hooded jumper and as usual, he’s just a shadow. The world doesn’t care about Jim and that’s part of what makes it easy to go unnoticed for so long.

It doesn’t take much time before he catches sight of the last boy. Sebastian Moran. Standing boldly outside of a fish n’chippery shop, chatting up a pair of girls that might be considered cute if you were into that sort of thing. The only thing on Jim’s mind is forming a plan of punishment, collecting enough information to tailor the suffering specifically to the tall blond.

Jim lingers by a bookstore chewing on his thumb and trying to decide which fate would cripple this boy the best. He hung back during the attack, Jim can’t remember him throwing a punch. But he let those boys beat Jim unconscious and couldn’t have cared less how much he would end up suffering from the assault. He’s the same as them and he’ll have the same fate.

Sebastian finally ducks into the restaurant and Jim heads to the front door of the crowded establishment, slipping into the body of people. He doesn’t eat in places like this but fried food is popular and it’s packed on the weekend. Smart kid; Moran is sticking to public spaces. But that matters little to him. It’s loud and obnoxious and he’s getting jostled around by people. It’s easy to see he won’t learn much here beyond the fact Sebastian likes greasy food, so he turns and pushes his way back outside. He’ll wait until the boy leaves and follow him again.

\---

Sebastian knows he has a tail.

He isn't exactly sure for how long or how he was found so quickly but he's noticed his shadow. Clever little thing, keeping his distance and blending in so easily. But Sebastian can recognize the posture, the hang of clothes too big on a small frame, the gait of his walk; because before he started running, before he became a target for a pack of wolves, he was just a boy on the street Sebastian watched.

It should make him nervous, being stalked around Westminster by someone who attacked- no, _mutilated_ his team mates. That boy may have been small but he was dangerous, the worst kind; unexpectedly vicious and deeply underestimated. They very easily could have been killed, all of them and it's a miracle some of them weren't but he doesn't attribute that to pure luck. It wasn't a miss. Sebastian doesn't believe in violent coincidences and he doesn't believe in four calculated mistakes. Yet fear is not in the foreground of his mind. He’s almost angry and not because his mates have been emotionally and physically crippled. That's their justice. They brought that on themselves. There were so many warnings that day and they heeded none. No, he's angry because he loathes the idea of being someone's target.

After coffee and a bookshop on his way through Westminster, he seemed to be untraced in his steps. Next was stopping to chat up a pair of pretty girls outside of the chip shop he knows is always crowded about this hour. He catches just a glance at the shadow lingering back and instead of launching himself into an offensive like a fool, he dips inside to get his thoughts sorted over the fact that he was undoubtably next on the agenda.

What was he waiting for? Oliver had been attacked in broad daylight but Sebastian continued to doubt that he would repeat a performance. Not after each masterful display of cunning thus far. He's had weeks to prepare this time and it's given Sebastian weeks to think. Inside, he's lost sight of him despite daring to scan the crowd, which suggests maybe the small brunet hadn't followed him in here with so many people.

It's irritating being so paranoid, glancing at every detail and trying to decide how many ways this one thing could kill him unexpectedly. For all his own intelligence, Sebastian can't say he's as clever as this little magpie but he'll be damned if he leaves himself open for a trap.

_Think, Moran. Think._

There's a side door to the chip shop, for the employees mostly. It cuts into the small alley where no one really goes; he could lose his little shadow there if he thought to. But he doesn't intend to _lose_ him. Sebastian slips out into the alley cautiously where it smells of standing water on old pavement but it’s empty. He doesn’t hurry to the front of the shop, trying to spot where the boy has gone and when his eyes do land on him, it may be his only opportunity to act.

Sebastian moves like he's bearing down on a deer he doesn't want to spook but he doesn’t have that old rifle in his arms. It's only his bare hands that grab up the hooded jumper at the base of the neck and drag the other boy backwards towards the mouth of the alley. It's nothing, no effort at all to pull him. He weighs so little Sebastian could probably lift him by the shirt and his only relief would be the stitching coming apart because it's old and worn.

"James, wasn't it?" He speaks through gritting teeth as he twists that handful of excess material around the boy's shoulder, jerking him about face and it's not handsome Moran with a charming smile that greets him. Oh yes, he remembers Finley's hiss of hatred that day. James he'd called him, as if the name was poison.

"There's quite an epidemic going around my team lately. Everyone's cropping up in the hospital and no one wants to squeak a word about it."

\---

He’s trying to calculate exactly how long it will take someone of Sebastian’s size to feed himself and socialize when a broad hand snakes out and snatches him by the hood, jerking him back into the alleyway. It’s a strong grip, Jim knows because he’s quick to try and twist away. He can hear the stitching rip on his jumper and thin arms and legs flail out, hoping to clip something to get his assaulter to drop him.

A deep voice rumbles in a hiss as he’s spun about and he freezes. Jim is face to face with the final boy of the troupe he hunts and up close, he’s even bigger. Nearly a foot taller and wider than Jim’s small frame, with muscles that belong on greek statues rather than young boys. He may not have been throwing punches that day and that’s a benefit, because he would have pulverized Jim even worse.

Eyes narrow into absolute hatred and Jim hisses like a cornered cat. “And you’re going to squeak?” He swings out his hand like a claw and his nails catch the curve of Sebastian’s cheek, slicing it open. The ooze of blood trickling over the strong jaw seems to startle him. None of this is planned and his mind is racing. He jerks his hand back, trying to wrench himself away.

“Let go of me! You’ve already done enough! “

\---

He might have spat at the suggestion, as if there was evidence to provide that wouldn't sound like paranoia and insanity, but he had no time for another word. A hand scratches at his face and it's startling, a contrast to the rag doll he saw battered nearly amontk ago. Sebastian can feel the sudden shred of nails, the skin raising damn near instantly and then, seconds later it begins to sting like the air is made of salt. His hand wrenches free of the shirt and he snaps it up to his face, blood beading up at the surface of the welt, just speckles on the tips of his fingers to start with. He scoffs a little laugh, both surprised and impressed; from a magpie to a mangy kitten backed in an alley.

It's no use if he tries to run, Sebastian is one of the fastest boys on the team, all lean muscle and agility. He launches towards the other boy and grabs at his arms, hard grips on his soft biceps and he really is barely there under those layers.

"I've done enough?!"

He starts to back him upward, forcible strides until that slender spine meets the wall, fingers curling against fabric and skin they can practically fit all the way around. It's wrong but it's exciting, the sharp sting across his cheek making his heart race.

"So you've got some fight in you after all." Blood already begins pooling in droplets at the surface of his skin, tumbling down his tanned face. He leans in, teeth grit and voice low like an aggravated dog growling in warning.

"I've got news for you; I'm not like the rest of them. I'm not going to sit around waiting to be your victim. You want to take your shot at me, now’s your chance."

\---

Jim isn't stupid, of course he turns and runs the second his jumper is released. He barely gets one foot in front of the other before the hands close down on his upper arms, snatching him back up and pushing him up against the brick wall on the edge of the alley. He's deep enough that passersby won't spot them if they glance down the side street, not that anyone pays attention to anything but themselves.

His attention snaps back up to Sebastian as the older boy speaks, though his eyes focus on the ooze of blood that sluggishly drips down the side of his face. Jim swallows hard and stares from beneath dark, thick lashes. "You're just like the rest of them. Pathetic. Coasting by on Daddy's name and money. No real life of your own. You live your whole life in his shadow, never realizing your blindness is your own fault."

Jim reaches for the hands clutched around his arms and cold fingers curl around digits roughened by rugby and tacky from nicotine stains. "I don't have to do a thing to you. You're already miserable on the inside, rotting away. One day your outside will match as well, just like the rest of your friends. Whether I help it along or not."

\---

Face to face with James now, this scrawny little thing, he can see those dark eyes up close and unwavering. He isn't afraid, not of one boy and not of four. He practically spits in the face of his attacker, sharp words glossed in Irish accent coming out like daggers trying to gut him.

Sebastian sees the change of tactic unraveling, from stalking his steps to a verbal assault trying to pick him apart like he's some kind of angst ridden cliche. For a split second, it makes his muscles tense and his hands tighten their grip, nails biting against fabric. But his answer comes first in the jerk of a lip corner. A laugh slowly peels his mouth open and he chuckles breathily with amusement.

"Oh, you are clever, aren't you... Very clever." He's impressed, how very easily that would have worked on so many but his tone comes out condescending, brows furrowing as he nods. "Mental warfare. Good for you."

And a waste of an open shot. He had better luck striking his cheek, at least that bleeds. The wounds he's trying to pick open are scabs only Sebastian can tear at so easily. It scratches across them surely, a reminder that stings like the claws that dug into his face but it's hardly skin deep. He's known all his life what shadow he looms under and very few know the real depth of that. Sebastian jerks back and twists his hands around, grappling at those breakable wrists, catching them tight and pulling them apart to smack into the brick he's pressed James' back to. It's sharp contact and hurts his own knuckles nearly as much at the other boy's.

"And what's supposed to happen now? Am I supposed to reel back in shock? Or are you expecting I'll just be outraged and hit you?"

He leans in closer and his heart is drumming insanely, dragging his gaze over the other boy's face; pale skin, pink lips and boyish cheeks that tell lies to hide how skinny the rest of him is. They fixate again on that vile stare. James could pierce a heart with that glare, hate and spite hiding just how smart this boy was. Under all of that malice, he could be beautiful.

"Go on. Tell me."

\---

The laugh is a knife twisting in his gut, but he doesn't flinch away. Those hands bend free of his fingers and grab his wrists now, slamming them back against the brick. He can feel the rough stone and mortar scrape at the back of his knuckles and his fingers flex slowly, useless as the thicker set squeeze his brittle joints. Jim’s heart hammers in his chest, making it rise and fall beneath the thin jumper before Sebastian mashes himself against it, pinning Jim against the wall.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips and he drags his eyes across Sebastian's face, reading the signs there. He's excited and Jim can see the vein in his neck pulse with a rush of adrenaline. He's impressed and curious, but he's also pompous and full of himself. He's used to getting what he wants. He's not just another one of the boys, he's their ringleader. A king without a single subject left, for Jim has felled them all.

"You don't even know what you want. How am I supposed to tell you what you want to hear?"

He closes his eyes and flexes his hands, drawing in a deep breath that shakes his skinny chest. "I can't satisfy you. No one can."

\---

He can't help it, watching that tongue slick across pale lips and wet them, glossed like pink satin. They're so close together he can feel the heave of each taken breath, the pulse of his rapidly beating heart under the calluses of Sebastian's fingertips. James closes his eyes, lace draping itself gently downward, breathing. Just breathing. And when his eyes are closed, even for a few moments, he's gorgeous.

This is a different struggle. Not a fight for survival but of power and dominance, one that James doesn't back down from even in the direct face of someone who could very well snap him in two. Surely he knows it. Sebastian does not need three others to do more damage than they did combined yet James scratches and claws with words and stubbornness as if nothing will make him bend.

It thrills him. This boy who doesn't whimper and cower no matter his adversary. Who speaks dares like daggers, egging the threat on; do it and meet the repercussions. And that consequence is dire. Sebastian only knows one person in the world who wouldn't bend under the weight of his pressure; men, women, staff, stranger. But this scrawny little bird, this alley cat, be what he will; he is not going to give in.

"Good answer." Still it's condescending and still they struggle, intense moments drifting between them in nothing more than breaths, like animals gnashing teeth at one another, waiting for the other to submit. And it's wrong, so wrong, but he hasn't felt this electric since he discovered that power in himself; the ability to make people bend. To do as he says even in casual suggestion. It lost its thrill so long ago. Everyone is so easy, there's no challenge. But James. This dangerous little thing. Suddenly his veins are alive, sparks snapping through him and it's delightfully exciting.

"Let's find out if it's true." It falls off his breath like a whispered growl and he jerks his head in, bruising their lips together abruptly and feeling a jolt through his nerves like the strike of a lighter trying to ignite.

\---

It's not...what he expects. The punches, the kicks, they never come. Instead hot breath bathes his face in whispers and then a mouth is pressed against his with such pressure it feels as if the skin is apt to split. His eyes dart open in shock and they swivel up to see blue so close it's like diving into the ocean. But water doesn't rush over Jim's head.

Only pure, unbridled anger washes over him.

Is he being mocked? This is as cruel as a fist and Jim can feel the cocky twist of the mouth pressed to his.

He tilts up and no, he doesn't kiss back. His mouth opens, not to deepen the exchange, but rather to catch Sebastian's upper lip between his teeth and bite down fiercely, jerking his head to the side till the tender flesh splits with a burst of blood that spills down over his teeth and chin.

\---

It's rather foolish. Not daring, as if to suggest some heroic bravery, it's really just foolish.

It doesn't take more than a few seconds to register this stupid thing he's done and there is a reaction; swift and merciless. James still does not bend and he will not break.

Teeth grab Sebastian's thin upper lip and pinch it viciously but it's the jerk of his head that becomes utterly violent. His lip splits open like a popped seam and Sebastian jerks back, his entire body pushing away from the wall. Fingers wrench free of James' wrists and catch his mouth as blood suddenly bursts from the tear and dribbles down his chin, seeping between bottom lip and teeth, over fingers that shelter it.

It's shocking; it should be horrifying when he pulls his hand away to see his fingers slathered in blood. But that spark inside of him snaps again and catches fire like his blood is oil, quickly spreading through his body and it's absolutely, unjustifiably defective. He must look just so because his face lights up with a grin that stretches his cheeks and it burns horribly when he suddenly begins to laugh. The pull only strains the tear further and forces out more blood that makes it all the way to dirty concrete when it falls off that chiseled face. Yet he can't stop laughing like he's thrilled to no end.

And James wins. He absolutely wins.

\---

Once Sebastian lets go of him, Jim snatches his hand up and smears the too long sleeve of his jumper over his mouth, painting the lower half of his jaw red. Worn trainers hit the pavement and he darts faster than he's ever run before, kicking out of the alleyway and leaving the ringing sounds of Sebastian's laughter behind him. It's haunting- who laughs like a mad man after being disfigured?

Sebastian Moran.

Jim weaves in and out of crowds, down streets and alleys of the city he calls his and abandons hope of anything today except for returning home and trying to forget the laughter that rings in his ears. In time, he makes it back to the small bedsit and after furiously washing his face and spitting mouthfuls of blood into the sink basin, the reality hits him.

His first kiss was stolen from him and turned into a blood bath, the memory tainted by the smell of copper and the taste of iron and salt. He thinks he'll never stop tasting it and the thought of Sebastian Moran being inside him forever churns his stomach and makes him retch up what measly contents were inside of it, until blood and bile cover the stainless steel in a horrid splatter.

\---

In the end, Sebastian ends up exactly where the others did.

He makes it to the hospital not long after, catching a cab from the corner road and spending the entire ride trying to force down giddy laughter. Catching blood in his hands, he eventually peels up the edge of his shirt to press it against the gush so it doesn’t smear the upholstery. Adrenaline circles through his veins, heat in his chest stirring him something fierce. Thick denims keep anyone from noticing the startling effect James seems to have had on him and eventually blood gets on those, too.

By the time he sits in the emergency room, his face is caked in drying red and he fights to weaken his smiles. Thoughts bubble up and make his mouth stretch until he can feel the tear in his lip spread apart, resistant against clotting, gummy blood. It burns harshly by now, an ache radiating outward. His cheek still stings and he must look like he's been unfairly assaulted because the nurse coos as she cleans him up but Sebastian doesn't have room for her in his head, sparing her the usual Moran charm.

He goes back to Eton with seven tiny stitches in his lip keeping it woven together. When he arrives back on campus, he washes clean and changes out of bloodied attire, tossing the shirt because it's all but dyed in his own brand of scarlet and the smell is thick. He stares in the mirror for a long while after, inspecting. The marks of fingers on his skin will fade but truly, they look like the claws of a feral cat. Sebastian’s mouth looks deformed, swollen unevenly, crawling up the philtrum and into the cheek. It'll leave a scar, possibly forever and yet he can't bring himself to hate it. It looks rather appalling just now; dapples of dry blood around each seam of rough blue thread where skin is inflamed unattractively tight against them. He returns to his room and it must be hours he spends writing, well past lights out. Nonsense, just nonsense to anyone else but him. Tales of clever birds and wild beasts and a great hunt. Of satin and silk and darkness. Of red. So much red spread out on white. Blossoming bruises and icy chill.

For days afterward, he can't seem to leave it alone. Always touching, prodding gently with a fingertip or his tongue, sliding across to taste a hint of salt and metal while chasing a memory of something he shouldn't want.


	3. Crash and Crave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm seeing it in my dreams.
> 
> The story of Moriarty and Moran, from the very beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This will be updated every Saturday!**
> 
> This is Razz's favorite chapter so far! Big notes at the end about the London Eye.
> 
> Thanks goes out to [Hippano](http://hippano.tumblr.com/) and [Nocturnalgrimoire](http://nocturnalgrimoire.tumblr.com/) for beta and editing!

Jim spends the weekend buried under the blankets, only coming out to nibble at some crackers and gulp down a glass of water or two. It’s the only thing his stomach can stand. He considers staying home rather than going back to school, but the winter holiday is coming up and he'll have plenty of time to himself. He hopes to never see Sebastian Moran again and that the scar he had surely left is reason enough to keep him away.

Remembering that laugh though, it seems doubtful.

Jim doesn't leave his flat for quite a few weekends, well into break. It's boredom that sends him out to the library to collect a stack of books to read but he doesn’t linger. Which is wise because when he steps out, stuffing books into his bag, he sees the older boy at the bottom of the stairs snubbing out a cigarette on the heel of a boot.

He doesn't stay to see if he's healed in one piece. Jim bolts before Sebastian lifts his head again. It's obvious he's looking for him, there is no other reason for the other boy to be in this part of London.

Jim hides himself in his flat even longer this time, which is fine because he rather hates Christmas. His landlady brings him a plate of leftovers from her Christmas dinner and he's thankful; honestly appreciative because locking himself indoors has kept him from any decent type of meal. He doesn't celebrate anything beyond scarfing down a pudding that really is too sweet and passing out with a full belly for the first time in months.

It's New Years before he takes to the streets again. People are drunk and easy to pickpocket. It's a good time to replenish his funds.

\---

Sebastian is restricted from going out again until the holiday releases them from school. It's been too soon since the attacks and now he's turned up injured as well. He can't sway them this time and he doesn't bother to try very much- the break is soon and no one has control of him then.He returns to the Moran estate with the bad taste in his mouth that Sir Augustus is present. There's an argument about the scar he's acquired, a scolding about his carelessness. As a rarity, Sebastian doesn’t have much to say on the subject. His father offers no sympathies for the friends he no longer has, neither does Sebastian want them. So really, it's a blessing.

His thoughts, his journal and his dreams are all plagued by the same memories and images. He can't help himself. James is lodged into his skin, cut right there on the surface in a pinkish white scar that heals up over the pieces left behind. He frequently runs his tongue over the damaged flesh just to taste a phantom of something forbidden.

He goes out into Westminster to pass the time. Sometimes every day. Sometimes only a few days of the week. What is he hoping for? He hasn't thought so far ahead, he just needs- _wants_ to see him again. But he doesn't. Not for a while.

Christmas at the manor is cold. Empty. No lights, no decorations; you'd think it wasn't a holiday at all. Aveline, their house chef, is in Paris with her sister although she left him a small gift and calls him that afternoon. Augustus is away again- which he's blessed for- but the housemaster is here and that isn’t much more tolerable. Sebastian waits all day, well into the evening. And he doesn't know what he's waiting for but he can't stand to be trapped in the bloody house any longer than the sun goes down. He takes a car by himself and goes into London even though it's shut down like an abandoned amusement park. He doesn't expect to find anything, he just doesn't want to go back until the hour is so late it becomes early.

Augustus comes home two days later and offers Sebastian a gift but it comes with no real sentiment. They argue. They fight. Sebastian stays away from the house again, every day, going out and coming home late so everyone is asleep already. He cringes when he leans down too far but he still manages to find comfortable positions to write in.

New Years. Normally occupied by mates and parties and probably a girl or three he'll make out with as the night escalates. But he seems to have lost the pack he usually runs with and finds himself utterly uninterested in offers to join the other members of Eton's London elite. He goes to Westminster again because he's a foolish hopeful. People stagger the streets in cheer and he sips a bottle of something that won't accomplish giving him that happy buzz he wants. It's dark and it's crowded but he finds him- James.

He stands there stuck in time, the name caught in his throat and he just watches because if you make a sound, you startle the animals. Even deadly, vicious ones.

\---

The haul is pretty good so far. He's only 4 wallets in and he's easily got over a thousand quid. People stock their wallets full of notes to pay for drinks and they are usually drunk enough already that they don't notice a hand slipping into their coats. It's cold as fuck in London now and Jim doesn't think he'll stay out much longer. He doesn't care about balls dropping and countdowns; his only concern is getting enough money to stock his larder for a time and maybe get a decent winter coat. He's wearing two thin jumpers, one layered over the other and if he stands in one spot long enough the slush seeps into his trainers.

He’s just pulled a wallet off a tipsy woman who bumped into him; he usually doesn't take from girls on days like this. They’re typically dressed up with too much makeup expecting men to buy the drinks for them but she did bump into him, so she's as good a picking as any. She has more condoms than money however. Jim pulls out a crisp twenty pound note before tossing the wallet into the rubbish bin.

Tucking it into his pocket, he looks up to see Sebastian standing across the street, staring at him like a gaping fish. Their eyes meet and for once Jim doesn't run. There is a packed street between them, the roads blocked off for street parties and Auld Lang Syne is drunkenly bleated out into the night sky over head. Funny, it's a Scots song that's become so famous on this day- The Irish are so much better at drinking.

There is no sense in running, the crowd is too thick in the spot he's chosen to perform his thievery. They stare at each other like lions surveying the plains between them, brimming with common antelope ripe for the hunt. Without ever saying a word, Jim turns and calmly weaves into the crowd. It's too easy to give up now.

\---

Sebastian doesn't chase after him. He isn't sure why exactly because the urge to do so is almost violent in his chest, practically vibrating down to the muscles of his legs, willing him to go forward. Yet he stands still and watches James disappear into the cluster of bodies because maybe it's enough to be reminded that Sebastian hadn’t created the other boy in his mind.

He didn't run and Sebastian doesn't know what that means. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. So much time has passed. Weeks and weeks _and weeks_ of thoughts and dreams, written and not dared to be worded, this one boy embedded in his skin like a shard of glass burying itself deeper. Yet he stands there getting bumped by others because he is a rock in a river, the nearly empty bottle getting knocked from his hand and skidding across the concrete, kicked by another pair of feet.

_Don't._

But he does. He moves, crossing the tar to follow after into the crowd and he'll never find him; even if he does, what then? What is the point? What amongst pages and pages of things he could say would make any sense. Madness, it's madness. He's obsessed.

Turn back. Go home. He won.

Oh, _he won._

Sebastian wills himself to stop moving again. _Just go home._

\---

He's got another wallet and this one is a winner, filled to the brim with not only folded notes but a fresh metro card. That's nearly as good as the cash and he grins when he adds it to his stash. Jim doesn't drink but he's glutting himself on something entirely different. He knows not to get too greedy though, that's when things start to go sour.

And there's Sebastian again, pushing his way past the milling people and searching so frantically, it obvious he's trying to hunt down Jim. People ignore Jim but they stop and stare at Sebastian, girls immediately zeroing in on the fact he is alone and good looking. But before any of them can slur together the words to draw his attention, it's Jim who pushes up to tall blond and stands right in front of him, scowling as if he isn't a foot shorter and barely 50kg.

"Why do you keep following me. We're even now. I'm not coming after you again."

He reaches up and points to the freshly healed, pink scar that bisects the right side of Sebastian's lip. "Or are you looking to get a matching one on the other side to level you out?"

\---

He has almost convinced himself to turn around and simply return to the manor. Back to the place he nearly hates, on a night that he has not wanted to spend inside for years. Almost.

But out of the crowd James appears in front of him, drawing his attention like a powerful magnet snapping to attraction. The crowds and celebrations all pushed aside instantly. James is even smaller up close than he remembers. Tiny in every way, from his height to his thin frame to the slender little hand that reaches out to point at the scar he's left permanently etched into Sebastian’s skin. As if on instinct, Sebastian slides his tongue across his lip, feeling his reminder; a tiny place James now occupies forever.

Oh, he shouldn't but he does, reaching up to take the wrist of that outstretched hand but it's not the controlling grip it was last time those fingers circled the tiny limb.

"Maybe I am." He can't help it, his mouth just pulls on its own accord. A grin stretches too playfully, too aloof for him to be speaking with the same boy who cut tendons and threw acid. Sebastian must be out of his bloody mind but just barely leaning down already sparks a thrill in his chest, fanning the flame resting at the center of a cold brazier.

"I just wanted to see you."

 

It's too honest and it tumbles out of his mouth like it was written on his tongue long before this moment. He can't blame a single beer for that.

\---

Jim instantly stiffens as Sebastian moves his hand to take hold of a narrow wrist that most certainly does not belong to him. His eyes narrow a bit but this time it's easy to tug his limb back. He's not getting caught up and thrown against a wall again.

"You think you would have learned to keep your hands to yourself."

He pulls the hand against his chest and rubs at his wrist with the opposite digits as if smearing off the touch of fingertips. The scowl doesn't exactly leave, it becomes a frown once Sebastian blurts out his intention which does little more than make Jim raise a dark eyebrow.

"Well you've seen me. Are we finished?"

Why Sebastian would want to see him is beyond Jim's comprehension. Is he seeking to serve him with charges or a bill for medical care? Good luck. Jim's not here legally anyways, he isn't an English citizen. And he’s got better things to do tonight then be lectured or told off for destroying boy's lives that cared little about ruining his own.

Before he can tell Sebastian to sod off though, a drunkenly swaying girl stumbles on her high heels and pushes Jim into Sebastian, spilling her beer down his back. He stiffens and yelps before he can help it; the ale trickles down his back, an awful smell accompanying the cold. He claws at the outer jumper to pull it off before the liquid soaks through both layers and with a huff, he wrings out his soiled clothing, shivering as the chill rushes in all at once.

\---

 

"Not at all." That stupid grin continues to shine on his face until they’re interrupted by a girl who can't control her damn legs proper. Sebastian twists quite a glare before stepping up and pulling James inward to evade another sway of the woman’s unbalanced body. He sticks a boot out, catching on one of her high heels as she tries to regain herself, sending her tumbling to the concrete like a drunken giraffe.

Sebastian glances down at James and takes a quick step back but it's too late, he's felt that shiver from the loss of an already thin layer. He is neither a chivalrous knight nor a doting boyfriend but it's freezing out for someone pint sized and underdressed. In two quick movements he's peeled off his jacket, dropping it unceremoniously onto James’ head and shoulders, leaving the older boy down to his thick thermal.

 

And are they finished?

"Not even remotely." He finally answers, ignoring the girl whose friends try to help her back to her feet with their equally uncoordinated limbs.

\---

Focused on wringing out the soaked fabric, it’s a surprise when Sebastian grabs at him again and pulls him close, flush against a broad chest that's warm, _oh so_ warm. To the point where the heat is nearly mocking Jim, who has long forgotten what that sensation even feels like over these long winter months. Still, his instinct is to jerk away but before he can, Sebastian sends the girl crashing to the ground behind him.

Jim blinks, momentarily stunned. Is Sebastian starting a fight to blame on him? But moments later a thick jacket drapes over his frame and it’s no glare that stares up at the blond; only wide brown eyes that swallow up half his face, confusion furrowing his brow. Jim is... at a loss of how to react. Did he punish that girl simply for knocking into Jim, who by all means shouldn't matter? And then why did he drop his jacket on him? He stares for a moment longer and when no explanation is offered, he jams his balled up jumper into a large pocket and pulls the coat onto his arms proper. _Oh_ the warmth it offers is glorious and it smells like smoke and expensive cologne. Jim nuzzles into the residual heat for a moment, then shuffles to the side and mutters.

"I'm...getting away from this crowd."

He edges away from the cluster of people and starts down the street at a slow enough pace to be followed. He doesn't just dart away or leave, though it isn’t really an invitation either. However, he does look back over his shoulder to see if Moran is falling in step behind him while making a beeline for the tube station down the street. He slips down the stairs into the underground where it’s considerably quieter and less crowded, as by this time of night, most people have already gotten to where they're going. Everyone is at Piccadilly or Trafalgar, waiting for the ball to drop and Big Ben to chime within the hour. Jim produces his new metro card and slips down to the station to wait for a train, the chill still biting at the tips of his fingers so he jams them into the outer pockets of Sebastian's coat.

\---

No explanation is ever given either. It's not completely out of the range of things he has done for someone before; his body harbors warmth above average that keeps him blessedly comfortable and when you wear quality fabrics, that heat just soaks up into them and echoes right back again. Boys have fewer tendencies to dress thinly but he's lent jackets to freezing, underdressed girls in the past.

That girl on the ground has no idea she's even fallen at the behest of another. And she'll never figure it out because James has declared his departure. Even without being beckoned, Sebastian turns and trails after his steps, slipping hands into his denim pockets away from the nip of cold. Not much is needed to be said at all really; he follows James down into the station in silence, swiping his own Travelcard from the depths of his wallet and stuffing it into his back pocket again. He has no idea where they are actually going but James has not told him to stop either. It's vaguely questionable if he'd even listen. But Sebastian stands near him and can't seem to stop watching.

His attention is only drawn off to the side momentarily by a couple on a corner bench making hushed, affectionate ruckus over a bottle of something and a cigarette they snatch from each other. It reminds him and he makes a small noise before turning to James, whose hands seek warmth in the pockets of the oversized coat. Sebastian reaches out, pinching thick fabric and sliding his fingers down the zipper to part the open front, pulling out the cigarette pack from one of the inner pockets. A metal lighter is tucked into the plastic wrapping and he shoves them both into the empty back pocket of his jeans. He doubts James would have use for them.

Not a word is spoken. His hands go right back into his own denim, lingering his gaze on the other boy with a smile pulled in the corner just beyond his scar.

\---

Jim looks up as Sebastian chirps and advances on him, eyes widening as the hand slips down into the coat to dig out a box of cigarettes, rubbing the back of his hand against Jim's chest through the threadbare fabric of his dark jumper. He stiffens up immediately and wriggles out of reach but Sebastian retrieved what he wanted and is already drawing away.

Jim looks absolutely mutinous but the train pulls up and he steps inside as soon as the doors open. It's relatively empty but they aren't completely alone. A couple is passed out drunk on the far end of the car. Jim moves over to the hard bench and sits down. He stares straight ahead, not sparing a glance over at the other boy who seems intent on following him.

Sebastian doesn't speak and neither does Jim because really, he has no idea what is happening here. Is Sebastian trying to learn about him like Jim was attempting to do before? Fancy that. He isn't chatting up about any aspect of his life. A few more minutes of silence and Jim shoves his hands deeper into the pockets, wriggling them around until they skim over the edge of a book.

He glances sidelong at the other boy then pulls out a small leather bound from the depths of the jacket. With a curious hum, he flips it open and scans over words scrawled in a tight script. He reads about birds and cats in a book he expected to have conquests sloppily written out in drunken stupors.

He looks up at Sebastian, head tilting back and eyes asking questions his mouth doesn't bother with.

\---

If he pays any mind to that look of irritation being twisted at him, there's no sign he's bothered by it. Sitting in close proximity to James, he gives the inside of the train a thorough look, scanning over the passed out pair with zero interest in them or their questionable life decisions. He’s fairly certain he knows a few boys who are doing much the same about now. Blue eyes land on the window across from them and he muses on the fact that James is so much shorter, in size and in slouch of frame. He could be a kid, a child if you will; he is definitely younger and given his interactions with Finley, Sebastian guesses around 16. A year younger than him, at least. Not really a child but still a slight one. James is glancing down from the window reflection and not until the older boy watches that face glance up at him does he look down directly to meet his stare.

In his hands is something of a prize and it's Sebastian's first instinct to snatch it back like he does to anyone else who sets their fingers on those journals. He takes in a breath and manages not to do that, exhaling his acknowledgment.

"Oh, that." He'd forgotten it was in there. Dangerous, all things considered but perhaps amusing because James has no idea the contents. Very few would, seeing that nothing in the book is written in direct recite or with discernible names. Only small dates in the margins where he stops and starts, meaning some days went on for pages.Sebastian has kept journals for years and this particular one is a couple months old now, filled three quarters of the way just in that time. Front and back, hours of writing uninhibited thought.

"I write a lot." An understatement maybe. He reaches over and slides it out of James' hands, closing the pages on themselves and finding the cords that wrap it shut. Real leather, always and this one still smells fresh of it, which he likes.

"It's just nonsense."

\---

As Sebastian takes the first thing Jim has found interesting away from him, Jim is right back to scowling. It immediately incites him to want that book back and scour its contents for any clue as to what makes this boy tick. His gaze flicks over to the signs that whip by outside the car, the lights occasionally flickering on and off and plunging them into darkness. He's still got a few minutes or he'd toss the rest of the contents of Sebastian's jacket on the floor and then shove the garment itself in his face before storming out and disappearing into another crowd.

"I wouldn't expect anything other than nonsense from the likes of you."

He pulls his feet up on to the bench, tucking his knees against his chest. The train car is chilly; it's too expensive to heat the underground. Jim rests his head on his knees and murmurs his insults softly, sparing his energy for trekking out into the cold once again.

"Your head has probably been knocked around so much on the rugby field that forming a proper sentence is quite the chore."

He huffs and nuzzles his face down against his knees, cheeks stinging as they start to warm. "...Why did you do that before...the thing by the chip shop. Are you looking for a new way to mock me?"

\---

 

That look; it’s not quite disappointment but almost a pout and it isn't going to sway Sebastian so easily from his station. When James begins to mutter insultingly at him, the older boy gives a breathy chuckle that only becomes more open when the brunet curls up and grumbles on about his potentially damaged brain. He seems to be holding on to an idea about Sebastian that he is a daft, angst ridden teen cliche.

He doesn’t bother to tell James any different, nor take the time to at least suggest that he is the one knocking other people around. The younger boy seems to fumble around on the change of subject but it's a question, direct and lacking snark. It's almost conversational.

"Mock you?" It comes out a bit incredulous but he supposed it could have seemed that way. And why exactly did he do it? That _thing,_ like a taboo James dares not name. It was just a kiss.

"Why does anyone kiss someone else?"

Of course, it occurs to Sebastian in weeks of delay that it's not exactly normal for a boy to go about kissing other boys. At least not outside of Eton, it isn’t. Downright appalling, some would say.

 

"Oh." The breath falls out of him in exasperated realization. That would be mocking, wouldn't it? Kissing a little straight boy you were arguing with five seconds before. That's not startling at all, is it Moran? He almost laughs at himself because it's so absurd; _he_ is completely absurd. He's gotten wrapped up in such a... fixation for weeks and it didn't even occur to him once that he could have startled James half to death by that mere point alone. Sebastian leans forward, elbows on his knees and tapping his knuckles softly against the leather of his book.

"I kissed you for the same reason you might kiss a girl." He looks at James, a kind of playful, almost sarcasm in his voice. "You're interesting. I was compelled by my attraction."

\---

Jim turns then, looking at Sebastian and the only thing his expression can say is that the blond is a complete idiot. Is he going to try and explain the birds and the bees next? Jim rolls his eyes and holds up a hand abruptly, signaling anymore drivel to stop before it continues dripping out his mouth.

"Obviously I am aware of your blatantly homosexual tendencies, Sebastian Moran. I am questioning neither your preference nor mine, but why you performed the act in the first place. I am hardly uneducated enough that the purpose of a kiss eludes me. However, attraction or not has little to do with the fact that you were a threat and made a bold move under extremely poor judgment. Are you following me around now in hopes of obtaining some sort of apology or restitution?"

Jim flits his fingers in a quick wriggle and then flicks the center of Sebastian's forehead as punishment for assuming he is that much of a moron.

"You're an idiot, Moran."

He curls out of his compact shape and stands up abruptly as the train pulls into Waterloo Station. Sebastian's coat is several sizes too big and draping down past his knees; he's not giving it up though. Jim steps out, heading back up to the surface and now it's evident that he's headed for the London Eye, which spins lazily in the late hours for the holiday. If Jim gets a car now he'll be at the top by midnight and above the world when it starts anew; crowned by stars until the explosions in the sky block them out. It's a six minute walk from the station to the Eye and he's aware of his tail the entire time- a stubbornly persistent stalker. The queue is short because people prefer to drink this holiday and when they reach the stall for purchasing tickets, Jim turns to look up at Sebastian expectantly.

\---

When James begins what sounds like a scolding, Sebastian has to try very hard not to break out in laughter. He bites his bottom lip and waits, waits, and then he's rewarded with a thump which pops his mute button and he finally does laugh.

"So I'm impulsive."

He's still musing as he watches the other boy stand, swallowed up by the jacket three times too big as he moves out of the car and yes, persistently, Sebastian follows with a grin. Interesting direction to be going in and checking his watch, even more so.

He already has his wallet pulled from his back pocket when they arrive at the stall and James turns to him expectantly. Brows raise but he pays both tickets, unbothered really. And it's not like he hadn't figured out this or that about James on his own by now. Contrary to current belief, he actually isn't a complete pillock; he does pay attention.

With no arguments, no debates and no demands to leave him alone, Sebastian trails after James to step into one of the large carriages, boarding over the Thames’ waters. He's been on this bloody thing once in the time it's opened and it's easy to forget at a distance how large the capsules really are. They find themselves alone although he can't imagine why it wouldn't be a choice place on a night where the city is lit up and so is the wheel itself. As the doors are shut in their wake, he hums softly and after a glance over the dark Thames, he's got his eyes back on the little figure.

"I don't.” Expect an apology.

\---

Jim hasn't been in the Eye before, he spends his money on things more beneficial to his survival in central London. He more or less supports himself on an extremely tight budget, so things like this are extravagant. When they are ushered into the carriage, Jim hurries across the space to press his hands against the glass like an excited kid. And that's what he is really, though he's been forced to grow into an adult well before his time, some things still linger inside of him. Not completely shaken free, hidden behind walls and barriers that close him off from the world.

There is only wonder in his eyes when he looks up to the stars in the sky above London.

The golden illumination of fairy lights on the structure of the ferris wheel outline him in a glow that makes him look like he belongs with one of those twinkling lights in the distance. There is quite a few minutes left before they'll reach the top but he's timed it well enough that the fireworks will burst over their head when they reach the apex.

Sebastian speaks and Jim turns his head, the side of his pale face lit up gold like Midas kissed his cheek.

"Good. Because you'll never get it."

Jim doesn't apologize. He doesn't regret. Things like that consume people, turn their minds into black ichor and snarl their thoughts. And Jim is already full of an inky mass that burns through his body in a slow destruction.

"What do you hope to achieve from this? Are you looking for the next opportunity to assault me?"

Which really, if he was, it's not the best idea to have gotten into a car along with him on a ride that lasts half an hour. But Jim has proven he can defend himself and most likely, Sebastian isn't _really_ an idiot.

\---

Watching James go straight to the window is surprising. Seeing him press his hands to the glass and look out as they begin a slow ascend upward, even more so. He looks excited. It's not in his face because he can't see that; it's in his body language, in the way he breathes a little differently as if he's taking in air to savor something. It's the way he fixates upward, curiously.

He's small and vicious and... there's a word here Sebastian doesn't actually dare to think, it's so absurd. He moves near the tiny Irishman and leans against the railing with his hands gripping back on it, metal pressing to his lower spine and at least a body width between them; his width of course because James is as thin as a wafer. Sebastian has probably never asked for an apology in his life, nor does he much make them with any earnest himself. Maybe that's privilege for you. But to demand that James apologizes over a bite Sebastian all but asked for when he kissed the other boy is really just ridiculous. This kid crippled five people, he isn't exactly apologetic about that either. All things considered, Sebastian is lucky and if he was smarter, he would have left it at that. But he can't. Something about this boy makes it impossible to leave him alone. Madness, maybe, Sebastian’s own.

Haloed in light, it's almost hard to believe it's even true. He's…. Alright, well, he's _adorable_. Sebastian doesn't even try not to stare or control his expression as a smile lingers on his lips. Fixated. Then he's trying not to laugh again, just a breath and a stretch to his smile.

"You said it yourself I don't know what I want."

He shrugs a shoulder, turning his back from the railing to face James. "And we've established I'm impulsive."

A gesture seems to present the tangible facts; his scarred mouth. "You've also made it clear that there are dire consequences for assaulting you. That really only leaves one option."

He pauses for a moment and with one hand on the rail he leans towards James slightly, fingers sliding on the metal.

"I must be looking for something."

\---

As Sebastian turns towards him, Jim draws his attention from the night sky once again to regard the other boy instead, his eyebrow raising in silent question as the blond continues to prattle on. He gestures to his mouth which brings Jim's gaze to the scar, eyes narrowing a bit as he examines the pink groove permanently bisecting his upper lip. Jim's there always, a constant reminder of what that impulsiveness can earn him.

One option.

Sebastian leans in, closing that sliver of space between them. And he must think he's so clever as he murmurs his next statement.

The chimes of Big Ben ring out over England and the sky is blazing suddenly with colourful explosions that brighten up the inside of the capsule. Jim reaches up and takes Sebastian's face in his hands, the small, cold palms molding against a strong jaw and holding it steady. It's midnight on New Years and under any other circumstance, he wouldn't have even been tempted. But Sebastian is looking for something, isn't he?

Jim leans up and as celebrations burst and thunder around them in a shower of colourful sparkles, he presses the lightest kiss to that scar he's made, whispering:

"Look somewhere else."

His accent is so much thicker when he whispers, the words pressed into the scar tissue and the other boy may not even feel any of it. Nerves and skin and muscle are funny, temperamental tissues.

He releases Sebastian's face and turns back to the domed windows, watching London's night sky catch fire.

\---

Their height makes the crackle and pop louder. London's sky lights up violently, explosions of rainbow color and seemingly random patterns, rocketing upward into the darkness and bursting overhead in a brilliant display of man's gift from the gods.

He doesn't see the beginning of their pageantry, hands keeping his head from turning away- as if he could- and blue fixing on a pale face that splashes with a bright glow after each boom sounds in the air. Lids fall heavy but not closed. Those fingers are so very chilled on his skin but the lips that touch his scar are curiously warm and yes, he can feel it, if not muted from what it once might have been.

Perhaps those words are meant to push him away. To cut him like a scalpel; carve out the parts inside that harbor his persistence and infatuation to toss them aside so he stops this mad charade. But if that was his intention, James has made a mistake fatal to his plan. He touches his lips to the very spot where shards of him are already imbedded and they only press deeper under the skin, working through tissue, down to the bone.

Sebastian lingers where he is left. He's seen fireworks a hundred times in his life, they don't impress him any longer; except for the way they spark and shine against pale skin, flickering over unreadable features and casting colorful shadows that override the ones already there. He looks younger in the fantastic light, unimaginable hues glittering in those dark eyes. It's uncertain whether he is heard over the pop and shatter of gunpowder and fire.

"I can't."

\---

If Jim hears anything over the explosions that thunder over head, he doesn't acknowledge it. Truth is, his attention is focused on the night sky and though he prefers the stars over the man made bursts of colour, he loves how the glittering display highlights the beauty of those balls of gas burning millions of light years away. His hands splay against the glass, pressing to the clear barrier as if he could somehow push through it and extend into that sky above.

Big Ben stops chiming and they've entered another year. Jim has survived in London on his own yet again, though it’s been seriously tested this year. Perhaps it’s time he moved on? But an invisible tether keeps him bound here and no matter how he wishes to leave and abandon that pull for good, it reels him back in tight.

The fireworks start to come more frequently, one on top of another in a burst of their finale. Rapid sizzles and pops burn overhead in a shower of rainbow sparks until there are only plumes of smoke dissipating into the night. It obscures the stars and leaves the scent of fire and chemicals in its wake.

Jim draws his gaze downward and London is lit up so brightly, it echoes the beauty of the stars for just a moment. "It's beautiful..." He murmurs, fingers curling as they start to descend.

\---

The smell is so thick in the air that it penetrates the carriage, a familiar scent of gunpowder and smoke. But even the spectacular finale doesn't sway him from watching James as he pushes hands against the window and stares after the magnificent glow that reflects on his pale face. The last great boom sends a magnificent sprawl over the Thames that has people all around in awe. As the sound echoes out, the hum of the crowd is so loud down there in the city that it can practically be heard vibrating through the dome. Triumph of a year that gives foolish hopefuls a new start.

And maybe it does make promises.

When Jim speaks softly, Sebastian finally glances down to follow his gaze to London's lights; everything twinkles and shines like a crust of diamonds. But he can't appreciate it the same way. He hates London. He wants nothing more than to leave it, no matter if he acknowledges the beauty of its celebration.

"Yes." But it sounds so disconnected from actual sentiment. When he sees past the lights, he sees people. Hundreds of small bodies moving, swaying, going wherever they will, together and apart. People laugh, people cry, they sing and act like fools and Sebastian can't connect with a single one.

He's already taken his eyes off of London for the one interesting thing in it.

\---

Jim watches London for a long while even if Sebastian sounds disinterested. A ride on the Eye is probably boring for a posh rich boy. Jim doesn't care if he isn't having a good time, it’s his own fault for following Jim around as if expecting a source of entertainment from him. The carriage slowly descends down, bringing them back to the Earth. The roar of the crowds and drunken singing can be heard growing louder and louder.

They drift down to the docks and Jim pulls his hands back, turning to find Sebastian staring at him again. He blinks and casts a curious gaze up at the blond boy with a tilt of his head. It's odd how he just stands, silent. Jim doesn't know what he is waiting for and he's not going to help him discover it either.

Is he expecting more conversation? He doesn't attempt to plead his case and maybe that's good because he's given up. He'd prefer not worrying about a stalker roaming Westminster. Jim hums softly and crosses to the doors as the carriage settles and they slide open, freeing him from Moran's company.

The park beyond is now filled with people milling about, the celebrations hardly over. It is for Jim however; he has no desires to remain in this cold or weave around drunks any longer. Reaching for the coat, he pulls it off and hands it over to Sebastian, dipping his head in a nod. It's the only thanks he'll give and it isn't even really a genuine one. But..well...its Jim.

\---

Boredom is far from the thing he feels. In another instance of time, he might have simply taken out the journal from his back pocket and written because truly, a vantage point such as this can only be inspiration for the eye willing to see it. Even if, at the bottom of his chest sits the distaste he has for this city and a lack of empathy for its people. But he isn't bored. He's memorizing. Storing away things, maybe words; pictures and ideas and references linked together nonsensically to form another lyrical story. Stashing this firework image of James in his head for safe keeping.

One way or the other, his hand will find its way to paper.

He’s turned towards again but that doesn't seem to distract from his gazing, it only means his eyes find another pair to search. The lights setting the pod aglow reflect in darkness which almost swallows them up whole but there's a glimmer under those lashes, a bit like stardust.

Sebastian's jacket is returned to him and he doesn't manage to tell James just to keep the damn thing so he doesn't freeze. He pulls it on instead, giving a tight little smile at one side of his mouth as a non-verbal 'you're welcome'. Sebastian seems to know the night is over just by a look.

"Be careful." And that probably sounds absurd but that corner of his mouth twitches, pulling a little more. "You never know the kind of predators about."

Because even predators get stalked by other predators.

\---

Jim stares for a moment longer with that, brow furrowing.

"I know of you."

And those are his parting words before he turns and disappears into the crowd swarming through the park like a wave cresting and spilling over the shore. Only it's not sea foam that spills, it’s drunks. Jim is sure footed where they are not and he weaves his way through the people, managing to make it home before he freezes.

It's nice that he has a metro card now, it'll make travel convenient for the month it lasts.

He’s made off with a decent haul and nibbles at more of his leftovers before curling into his mound of blankets that constitute a bed, mind wandering to what was written in the book he wasn't allowed to read. Jim does not like being told no.

When he sleeps tonight, its rainbow coloured bursts of light and the lingering flick of a bird's wings. It'll drive him mad until he gets that journal and makes sense of its stories. Being denied is something he hates, even if he lives it every day.

\---

His smile becomes a light grin and they both turn to go their separate directions. Sebastian only gets a few steps before he pulls out his cigarettes, relieving one from the pack and glancing over his shoulder to see the last sliver of James disappear into the sea of people. Lighting the cylinder slipped between his lips, he blows a fresh trail outward and stuffs hands into his pockets. It's then he notices the waded up, threadbare jumper that's been left behind, damp with the soak of beer spilt insultingly. He pulls it from the large pocket and stares at it for a long moment, knowing he'll never find James again in this mess of people.

Simply, he stuffs it back in there and moves on through the crowd, headed home on his own accord.

He drives himself the same as he came, to the skirts of London where countryside starts to take over, down a long road of great big houses that are not really as old as they look. It's deathly quiet, lights dimmed in the center hallway that seems to run through the house like a spine, connecting the main rooms and branching out in corridors like veins. He heads upstairs and shuts himself away, depositing pockets full of things onto his desk and lastly the jumper that was too big on its owner. A thumb runs over the fabric- testing it- and he hardly knows how the boy could stay warm in London winter under that even doubled in layer. It reeks of brewed hops and damp thread, erasing any real trace of personal scent. Sebastian leaves it amongst his shed clothing in the hamper where it can be washed clean of its liquid assault.

Then he sits down to write about colors and splattered paint, oils smudged on a canvas of white. Of waters impetuous, stirred by beasts unseen beneath them; of roiling breath clouding the sky and great, violent slashes of light peeling across the darkness in explosions of tempered rage. He writes of calamity, chaos in singularity that devastates civilization, unbound by natural law. How it sunders through rock and causes unrivaled collapse- dust and pebble and jagged edge left behind.

When he falls asleep, daylight already peers through the curtains. He does not go out again for days. He folds the washed fabric up and sets it away in the bottom most drawer of his left handed nightstand and returns to Eton when classes resume. But he dreams of fireworks he didn't watch and colors that do not exist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The London Eye: We try to remain true to real information in all aspects and this is our biggest abuse. We were about halfway through the scene when we realized the London Eye was built in 2000. Razz really wanted to keep this scene but there was no other obvious way to manipulate it differently and still remain the same, so we decided to take liberty on it.
> 
> The eye is also used IN New Years displays and from what I read, usually closed down to public access. Since this is an AU, I personally run on the idea that it was built earlier but revamped in 2000 with newer tech to support the celebratory shows.


	4. Burning Ring of Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This wild desire.
> 
> The story of Moriarty and Moran, from the very beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This will be updated every Saturday!**
> 
> A **dub-con warning** in this chapter and a note at the end about post format!
> 
> Thanks goes out to [Hippano](http://hippano.tumblr.com/) and [Nocturnalgrimoire](http://nocturnalgrimoire.tumblr.com/) for beta and editing!

Soon enough, the holidays are over and classes resume. Jim doesn't think of Sebastian. Not really. He thinks of that book and the writings within; how it was taken away before he could make any sense of it. Jim's thirst for knowledge consumes him and this is no different. What's in those pages that Sebastian deems unshareable? He oh so _hates_ being denied knowledge and if Sebastian can have an obsession, then so can he.

He looks up more about Eton, learning about it in the libraries. They force their students to go to chapel throughout the week. Jim can head up and search his room while he's in service. Find the book, maybe even find more- something substantial enough to blackmail Sebastian and keep him away for good.

He uses his newly acquired metro card to take the tube to Eton on an early Sunday. London is still chilly and Jim is doubled in layers again, his hood pulled up around his ears. It’s nearly an hour ride that he spends reading a book on astrophysics that he's taken out from the library. The book is interesting but he finds himself drifting in thought, preparing himself for the task ahead. At the end of the line, it's a short walk to the school and Jim surveys the layout, remembering the maps he'd studied. There are two chapels, he can watch one to make sure Sebastian attends.

A moment's consideration brings him to the lower chapel. Sebastian would most likely avoid the crowd of the larger building; he seems to hold himself above his peers. Jim moves through hedges and slips around buildings, easily unseen where he can watch boys file into the building in a steady trickle. They drop their bags at the corner of the stone building before entering. It’s a curious practice but Jim supposed in the eyes of the priests, nothing must come before God.

Sebastian appears followed by a gaggle of adoring lower class men and Jim rolls his eyes. But he too drops his bag and Jim sees nothing but opportunity. No doubt he keeps his book close, so there is a good chance it’s kept in his knapsack. Once the service starts, heralded by the singing of the choir ringing from the halls, Jim hurries over and snatches up the bag Sebastian dropped, searching through it till he finds the leather bound. He is triumphant and snatches it away, heading back to the tube station with his prize clutched to his chest.

Only once he's safe on the train back to central London does he flip open the leather book and begin reading the words written there.

\---

Chapel is a necessity; an unfortunate necessity. He didn't always think so, either. He cannot pinpoint when a shift began that he no longer took stock in these ideas but it must have happened in the past couple of years. In that time he began to realize that God and this idealized life were really no different than Sir Augustus' plans for his future. But he supposed the bible was interesting in all its fictional rights, as a story of monsters and heroes. He must have taken _something_ away from it and God knows what.

Nevertheless, it's part of Eton's regimen for building proper Englishmen and there he sits through a 40 minute service, just so he can go out on the lawns and pour over his EWs. It's cold out but not cold enough to keep him indoors all day. After Chapel has ended, it takes him almost an hour into his studies to realize anything is wrong. In his scattered efforts at concentration, he decides instead to write what plagues his thoughts and finds his bag empty of the prized leather journal.

He's certain. He's already _certain_ of where it should be but still he sprints across the courts and streets to get back to the dormitories. He all but smashes his shoulder into the door he swings open and begins searching around the tiny, organized bedroom looking for any trace of it but he already knows he hasn't left it here. He rifles through stacks of course books and papers, through folded clothing, under made sheets and in drawers. Then illogical places like his closet and inside of things he hasn't opened or touched for weeks, until he's gritting teeth and growling at nothing and no one.

It’s not here. He knows he put it in that bag this morning. He knows he did because he never, ever walks off without it. And suddenly it's a torrent of frustration that starts flinging items off his tiny desk and the nightstand, textbooks smashing into the wall and papers scattering all over the choking space, the bedclothes askew. Everyone is scattered across the campuses, who can he find? Who might be under suspicion?

No one! No one has ever _taken_ one of those books. They inquire, they get curious; they touch it in front of him because he's never without it, and everyone, _everyone_ who knows about his journals, knows they are off limits. He’s put a fist into the nose of more than one boy who thought it was a clever idea to pick one up and read a passage out loud. There's only one instance where he left that bag alone and everyone on campus was in services this morning, most of the older boys attend the primary Chapel out of distance.

Everyone. Except _one_. One tiny, thieving magpie that has already proven that sneaking onto Eton's campus is no great challenge. He remembers that pout; the expression of contempt he was given when he did not let him hold on to it. Could he? Sebastian stares into the mess that's become his dorm room, glaring. **_Could he?_**

Sebastian knocks the remaining things off his desk in one fell swoop of an arm, making an angry noise. He changes out of his tails for casual attire and storms out of the room, slamming the door as he goes and giving the Dame down the hall a near heart attack. She calls after him to fuss but he's already shoving his way out of the House past startled Etonians returning to their rooms. Never mind permissions to leave campus or the fact he has no idea where to look- no promise he will actually find him. It doesn't matter; if he can find James, he’s convinced he’ll find his leathers.

\---

At first glance, a lot of the writing seems like nonsense. It's written in prose and the words are very imaginative, poetic. There is obvious symbolism here and it repeats itself often, speaking of birds and kittens and fragile, small creatures being hunted. Jim is nearly a third of the way through it when the tube stops at the end of the line, bringing him back to Hyde Park. He has to pause so he can gather up his books and slip off the train as the conductor shoos him away.

He heads down into the park and the sun is higher in the sky so it's not quite as cold anymore. Confident that he's gotten away safely, Jim makes his way to one of his familiar haunts off the beaten path, under a sprawling oak where magpies chitter away in their nests. He sits on the grass and leans back against the tree, finding his page to continue reading.

The more he delves into the text, the more solid the ideas become. He finds himself flipping back and uncovering familiar themes in earlier writings. And it's vague, but he begins to see himself there in the words. In every word. Sebastian is more than obsessed. He is infatuated with the idea of Jim, the fiction he's created in these stories.

He's unsure of what he feels at first. Should he be flattered? This book is nearly entirely written about him. Yet all that builds is rage. How _dare_ Sebastian. He assumes to know things about Jim when he in fact knows nothing. There is supposed to be no trace of Jim anywhere, certainly not some foolish stories that implicate him to crimes he's performed to protect himself. It's always to protect himself. But this is just evidence. It's enough to lock him away if anyone else makes the connection. This is more than a pair of trainers.

Jim pushes up and begins to collect dry twigs and branches for kindling. Tossing these words away is not enough. He needs to destroy them. Once the tinder is piled together, he strikes a match and lights a fire. The smoke may plume and draw attention, but not before he is done with his task. He begins ripping out pages, throwing them down into the base of the fire where they ignite, the flames eagerly licking at the paper and turning it to ash.

\---

It takes too bloody long. The wait on the tube has him restlessly tapping digits against his bouncing leg, energy pent up like a finger resting on the trigger, waiting to fire. Three hours is enough time for James to be long gone from sight; he could be anywhere in Westminster, anywhere in London! At home, cozy in a chair pouring over the intimate details of Sebastian's thoughts. And he won't miss it, will he? Not James. Not this clever, deadly boy.

And that's worse. It's not embarrassment he feels; it's his absolute distaste to let anyone into his head. To let anything or any person breach this tiny bit of himself that he’s allowed when he takes down the words that have no other place in his planned out life. An outlet to expel this over active imagination that swirls around almost violently in his skull, taking up the space he needs to cram all the useless things in there that he's expected to know. It's his mind. That's all he has.

He knows how very stupid it is to be protective of a book. An easily lost, easily taken, easily _destroyed_ book. A book that he doesn't even read over once it's written. They're just words on paper and hasn't he done worse? Stalking James, searching and obsessing. It's gone too far and now it's all bubbling up at once in a rage he hasn't felt in quite some time.

When they come to a stop, he pours out of the doors and boots fall hard on the pavement as he jogs out of the station into the daylight glaring overhead. He’s in a hurry to get nowhere, with no clue as to which direction to go in.It’s warm out in midday and his instinct would have been the park. Hyde park, sprawling and beautiful just beyond the station. Could James have the same idea? Could it be a single common thread between them? The park is huge and the likelihood of finding him is slim at best but still he goes. Sebastian practically takes off running down the path, head whipping back and forth in his search for a familiar frame- a gait, a slouch of posture.

Nearly running should expend his bottled energy and calm him back down but it's as if the faster his heart pumps, the more livid he manages to become. It's pointless, foolish, unfocused anger just boiling in his blood. The very idea that he may never even find him has his thoughts storming around spiteful, swearing frustrations in at least three of his known languages.

Something catches his eye. A small stream of darkness that tumbles up above the oaks- smoke? Why would there be bloody smoke? Who would start a fucking fire in a damn public park in broad daylight? A damned fool- or maybe a small bird with no respect for society's laws. _No._ It can't be that easy. It can't be so simple. Don't be foolish now, James. Don't make a mistake.

Sebastian runs harder. Feet pound the pavement until he breaks from its pathway, headed for the sign of smoke and catching the attention of plenty passerby as he veers off into the collective of trees. He doesn't slow down, heart racing and lungs taking in air until he sees sign of thicker puffs and a frame that slouches just so. And in his hands, in those tiny, destructive hands, pages tear out of the leather bound, getting tossed into the flame and Sebastian feels tightness in his chest. Is it the running or is it something more?

_Don't._

He can't stop himself. He breaks past another tree and another and just barely manages to pull back his momentum before crashing straight into James. He sends them both sprawling to the ground and it's a frantic pair of hands that scramble to grab for James' shoulders, pressing them down into dirt and grass. His arms tense up, one of them jerking at the elbow, ready to reel back and strike him with the fist he raises.

_Don't you fucking dare._

It comes smashing down into the ground by James' head instead, quickly clamping onto the shoulder again.

"Why did you do that?!" And he doesn't know why the words come out the way they do, heaving for breath and scratching at the edges of panic.

\---

Another page crumpled and thrown into the fire.

And another.

There's always been something he's found fascinating about fire. It's heat, its destruction. The way it completely changes the chemical makeup of whatever substance it comes in contact with. Everything becomes ash. Everything in the world burns.

He's so focused on the flames, he doesn't hear Sebastian until the boy is on top of him, crashing them both to the cold ground beside the crackling flames. The wind is knocked out of his lungs and he gasps, twisting in Sebastian's grip and trying to wriggle free. But this boy is twice his size and weight and Jim can't rightfully push him off when he's intent on being there.

One hand reels back and Jim stares up at Sebastian, waiting, just _waiting_ for him to smash it into his face. To prove that he is like all the others. But that fist comes cracking down into the ground instead of his jaw. Jim’s heart beats in his chest like a frantic bird but he doesn't flinch. The fire light makes his dark eyes glitter, swallowing up the sight of the man above him, completely furious.

Jim's never seen him like this, wild like a beast. He's always calm; collected. Now, he's raging and there is heat bearing down on Jim that has nothing to do with the bonfire. It's a window inside of Sebastian, an indication of just how much anger boils inside. That exterior may be relaxed and cool but it’s a mask just like Jim wears.

"Go on then...punch me. Try and break me. Smash me to bits. You'll just get another scar by the end of it. I'll ruin you just like all the others."

\---

Sebastian looms over him, blond hair completely untamed and hands pushing him down into the dirt. His teeth grit in that wide mouth and words come out as a snarl, the kind of sick, sharkish grin curling up in the corners that a madman flashes when they beckon dangerous threat into their arms.

"Go ahead! Do your fucking worst!"

Of course he shows no fear. Not of four and not of one. Even when the anger boils out of Sebastian and he bears down on James like a monster; no cringe and no plea. Sebastian hasn't hurt him yet, no further than the collapse to the ground they both felt, knees and hands and short bursts of air. But he could.He could break this boy in his hands. Snap his fragile little bones and bruise that soft looking skin until it blossoms hideous black and purple roses. Grind him up into pulp with his fists far better and more calculated in every hit than bloody Cotterill and his pathetic swings. But Sebastian doesn't want to, no matter the urge that vibrates in his arms and tenses his fingers; he doesn't want to do it. Not to him.

But James pushes him on with a threat, reminding him of what he can do. This brilliant little bird seeks an excuse to maim him. Looking for a reason to spread his gorgeous wings and turn him into poetic art when he ruins his life like all the rest.

And what is there to ruin?

\---

Sebastian is so close that Jim can feel him breathe across his face as he snarls out. He has completely changed from the boy in the carriage of the London Eye, nor is he the one who writes these fantastic stories that Jim is burning away. He is practically screaming at Jim, convinced this small creature can do nothing, that he has no chink loose in his armor.

He thinks he knows Jim.

But he has seen nothing. He's seen Jim take punishment. Not dole it out.

Jim's leg jerks up and he knees Sebastian in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. As the blond's grip loosens, Jim flips them, rolling on top of the disoriented boy and straddling his waist. Pale hands immediately lunge for Sebastian's throat and grip tightly; it takes both of them, but he is relentless, squeezing tight enough that he dents flesh and can feel the muscle strain under his hands.

There is murder glinting in his dark eyes; he'd destroy Sebastian and never flutter an eyelash. And yet, there is excitement too. He's been pushed by this boy so far, chased and assaulted and stalked. He keeps coming, even though he knows the danger.

They both play a game that can have no winners.

\---

Tables turn oh so quickly when anger takes over. How suddenly you can lose sight of what is happening. James does not look angry, barely a hint of it in the gleam of darkness; not at all like Sebastian who wears it like a weapon twisting his face and clouding his eyes.

He wrenches free of Jim's shoulders as a sharp knee slams into his stomach, letting out a hard, spitting grunt through those bared teeth. His body folds and makes it all too easy to shove him over, rolling onto his back with a loss of breath he was already struggling with. James is at his throat with slender, deadly fingers like ice wrapping around flesh and sinew, pressing into his windpipe and cutting off his attempt to regain air.

And it's utterly thrilling. That fire in his chest bursting into accelerated flames, licking at the inner walls of his ribcage and threatening to burn him asunder from the inside out. This fierce little bird, wings spread to show the magnificence of his colors as tiny murderous hands seek to snuff him out for good.The sounds that choke out of Sebastian are not pleas or rage. The corners of his mouth peel back around parted lips gasping desperately and he's rasping out a laugh in the last slivers of oxygen his lungs can hold. A large hand reaches out and snatches James by the front of his jumper, bawling fabric up and jerking him inches closer, the other slapping around one of those fragile wrists. And even though his grip is firm and he could easily swing, push, bend, break, _fight_ \- his hand trembles with the effort of battling the purest instinct man has.

He doesn't take his eyes off of James, even as his face begins to flush scarlet and he shudders beneath him.

_Go ahead._

\---

Jim's hands tighten, curving in to get a stronger grip until his trimmed nails are biting into the flesh, cutting crescents into the skin with the pure savagery that radiates through him. He isn't angry, no. He is calculating. He knows he must work fast in order to fell this giant before he regains the upper hand. Jim may not compare in strength but he brims an overabundance of cunning and he knows where to touch a man to make him helpless.

And yet Sebastian laughs.

A raspy thing, which fades into a choke that rattles through Sebastian's chest. Jim is momentarily shocked at the sound, especially when it's followed by a broad hand grabbing hold of his shirt and jerking him down till they are pressed together along the length of their torsos. He expects Sebastian to start choking him back or throwing him off but the second hand curls around his wrist and just holds him there.

He gives himself to Jim, his life like a gift.

Jim can't understand it.

He won't be anyone's way out.

Jim jerks his hands away and balls one into a fist, slamming it down into that smirking mouth. His knuckles scream out in pain immediately but he only twists his mouth into a scowl and rips his jumper from Sebastian's grasp.

"Stop following me."

He practically hisses it as he pushes off of Sebastian and starts to climb up, abandoning him to the dirt.

\---

Death is not a thing he seeks.

There is a blaze inside of him that has remained relentless since that very first day. In all regards, this tiny creature should break in two at the first sign of pressure and yet he stands unshaken in the face of every threat. A great part of Sebastian wants nothing more than to understand him and all the rest longs for the thrill James sparks inside of him. It is a pulse of life he has never felt, as though suddenly he was breathing free of toxin for the first time. Never did he think to find that under London's tainted sky.

He could not dampen that fervor. He would rather watch it unfold.

And air comes sucking back into his lungs abruptly, gasping only to have his senses shocked again by the sudden fist that pops against his mouth. His bottom lip splits open on the edges of enamel, welling up droplets of blood that slide onto his tongue. The weight begins to lift off his body as Sebastian recovers his head forward to watch James retreat but he won't get far.

No matter the heaving breaths he takes, the blond hoists himself upright as James attempts to stand, grabbing him by the knees and knocking him back down to ground level. He grips at his legs, rolling him onto his back and sliding him across grass and dirt to straddle his waist hurriedly. Calloused fingers grab the wrist of the hand which hit him and press it down into the earth, hovering over the Irish brunet as he speaks in husky drags of air.

"Not now I won't."

\---

The hands and arms wrapping about his knees and tugging him back to the ground come as a surprise. He crashes down onto the grass, sending a shower of cold dirt upwards and smudging it over his chin, which aches and stings and he's sure he's scraped it on a rock because his teeth are chattering from the impact. But he's not finished, Sebastian flips him over and drags him back, hiking his layered jumper and shirt up his back and hips, exposing pale skin to the cold air. A heavy weight settles over his thighs and he looks up to see Sebastian sitting on top of him, knees bracketing his narrow waist.

Before he can swing his fist up to make contact with the side of Sebastian's face, the blond grabs his wrist and slams it onto the ground over his head. He grunts at the flare of pain that radiates down his hand; there is that fucking rock again. His eyes narrow as Sebastian rasps overhead.

Jim’s lips part and the slim pink muscle flicks over them, wetting them from the dry, cracked state they've become from sitting in this cold weather. He arches up, testing his limits of being pressed to the ground. He's effectively stuck; Sebastian's weight is like a boulder forcing him down against the earth. Jim gives up struggling- that grip is like iron bands closing around him. Fighting will only make him filthy, cool pieces of torn grass already sticking to his exposed skin. When he answers, it’s not a hiss. His voice has gone soft. Dangerous.

 _"_ You will. _Or it will be the last thing you ever do."_

\---

He knows what James is capable of. Turning Sebastian into a vegetable or a corpse is not far off, is it? Blue eyes narrow, zeroed in on the clear sight of a dirt smudged face and the dangerously controlled expression it holds. Excitement shouldn't roll through Sebastian’s body like a caffeinated shudder down his spine. His pulse shouldn't flutter and skip and he damn sure shouldn’t feel electricity pulling down into his core. James is more than just a boy, he is stone unwavering against the elements. It’s not the first time Sebastian should be afraid.

Instead, he's ecstatic.

He seems to consider that threat and then his sharkish grin splits his jaw again, bloody lip stretched and stinging as he inches downward just barely. His voice lowers, whether from the strain of his abused throat or the pointed way he enunciates his words through his teeth.

"I can deal with that."

\---

Sebastian is crazy.

That's the only explanation of why the threats seem to excite him rather than turn him away. Perhaps he is as crazy as Jim, although he's yet to see anything to indicate mental illness beyond his choice in friends. And really, he doesn't seem too concerned for how they fare these days.

Those clear blue irises stare down, yet there is only a thin ring of color because the pupils are blown so wide Jim can see himself reflected back in them. And he's so calm it nearly startles him to see it. He blinks slowly, eyes falling shut for a moment and his lashes are an inky smudge smeared across pale cheeks.

"Don't disappoint me, Sebastian."

\---

Sebastian drags his tongue across his lips, grazing the scar there and tasting hints of salty metal. The thickness of jet black lace laying itself down draws his attention, a familiar string pulling inside of him to see the deceptive peace of James’ eyes closed. You can't call it relinquishing the same as you could not call it submission when he took his beating, but the way the other boy falls into a kind of calm is both dangerous and effective at diffusing the last of open aggression.

"I wouldn't dare."

Sebastian’s throat still aches from the bite of nails and crushing fingers. He stares down at the eerie brunet, his anger washed out but that doesn't mean he's returned to the mask of calm. Energy buzzes through him, excitable and ready to pounce at a chance to be expelled.

Abruptly, he lets go of James' arm and sits upright but he makes no effort to remove himself as an anchor. Left hand reaches up and swipes at the tender break in his lip, dabbing at the exposed flesh before sucking in the thin tissue and feeling the pressure of teeth drag over the top of the open wound. His gaze wanders in slow inspection over the top of the Irish boy's figure; the upper layers of his thin attire sit awry on James’ small body, exposing skin pale as marble between a spread of dark colors.

He shouldn't, but he's no good at keeping his hands to himself. Sebastian’s right hand moves, touching thumb to unveiled flesh and lightly drawing over it, almost imaging the bruises that might have once been there. The ones that plagued his dreams. His gaze is fixed like a fascinated child touching knickknacks on shelves he isn't supposed to reach, unconcerned with how the consequence of his curiosity will burn him.

\---

As the hand loosens its grip, Jim's eyes open once again. He looks up to see Sebastian shifting above him, moving yet not enough to free Jim from captivity. He's examining his split lip now, prodding at it with finger, then tongue. It has stained his bottom lip red and paired with the pale pink stripe that runs up the top tier, it’s quite the interesting combination.

Then the other hand is on his waist but not offensively. Sebastian is actually caressing him. Jim does flinch at that, reeling his hand back to smack Sebastian's away.

However, when he catches sight of the expression on the blond’s face, he hesitates. The other boy is fascinated. He stares at Jim like he is something absolutely precious and not for the first time, Jim is confused. Why does Sebastian stare at him like that? Where does this obsession stem from? Jim draws in a shaky breath and lowers his hand back to the ground. His head tilts and he watches Sebastian touch his skin like it was gold or silk and not just flesh.

And no... Jim is not disappointed.

\---

His skin is cooler than Sebastian's. Softer in contrast. When James flinches, everything flexes with the tension and he can see the shadows fluctuate across thin wrapping over svelte structure.

The movement in his peripheral snaps his attention and his hand pauses when he glances upward to find the Irishman watching him, arm laid aside where it abandoned its desire to fend him off. Curious. Sebastian's chin tilts upward too, refocusing his intense study on the unreadable expression cast at him as his thumb resumes its motion as if testing.

He knows he's crossing lines and can't find concern for it. Tension lingers between them, pulling tight and who knows what sort of deadly punishments that clever mind is coming up with right now: A thousand and one ways to destroy Sebastian Moran. How threats must sit behind pale, pink lips perfect for spilling dagger wit.

He leans forward unannounced, stemming his free hand to the ground and pressing against that adder's mouth with his abused own. Not soft, not hard; if he's about to gain a matching scar, he may as well savor it for the seconds it lasts.

\---

It's almost as if Sebastian's movements are telegraphed to his brain before he makes them. Jim might not understand the intentions behind them but he can see the moment the older boy makes his decision. Steeling himself and his nerves in that second before he dips his head down and seals their mouths together in another kiss, even if the last time he did this there were dire consequences.

Jim doesn't ever repeat himself however, even in punishment.

He's unresponsive at first, just lips which are warm where other parts of his body are so very cold. Sebastian's kiss is not timid; his mouth molds itself to Jim's boldly. Dark eyes bore into the impossibly close blue and as much as Jim wants to deny it, Sebastian Moran is a stunningly gorgeous individual. He has a physique that makes greek statues of carved marble jealous, holding in all that delicious warmth and before Jim can stop himself, his body arches up to meet the solid figure above it.

Most embarrassing perhaps, is the needy moan that sounds in the back of his throat.

\---

His heart is drumming in quickened pace waiting for a strike that never happens. Stillness gives away to the curve of small body trying to meet closer, lips pressing back to his and it's a surprise of pleasantry, not malice. None so much as the sound that roils like soft thunder from behind those lips and _dear god_ it sends a shiver crawling down his spine.

His eyes fall shut and he presses firmer into the kiss, just barely parting his lips to feel the brush of softness against his own- never mind that it smarts from the fresh cut. His hand slides up a bit higher, fingers creeping beneath the double layers of fabric doing a poor job of keeping James warm; but Sebastian radiates heat and he beckons for James to get closer.

\---

Jim has split Sebastian’s lip again but this wasn't for kissing... not quite. And he isn't shy about exploring the damage he’s done, opening his mouth to snake his tongue up in search of the cut he created. He finds the tear in the skin and runs the tip over the flesh, still salty as he coaxes out another bead of blood. It's not so much a kiss as it is a quest for dominance. His teeth dig into that battered lip and tug it downwards, worrying at the break.

He's relentless, biting at Sebastian's mouth. It's not any kind of sweet kiss, it’s like warfare. Jim is only delicate in form and yet even there he has proven himself able to take hits better than boys twice his size. But right now he isn't thinking about anything but the body coaxing him up into endless warmth. He presses to it, his hands lifting to find their way into Sebastian's hair with a tight grip. He uses it as an anchor to slot his hips up against Sebastian's, curving into the broad body that promises more delicious heat.

\---

This battle for command was a fair fight until James began nipping at the open cut, a sharp inhale breaking Sebastian's concentration as teeth and tongue fondle the tender split. Abused flesh swells under the assault, heart pounding furiously while that small body presses up into his so damn delightfully he can't help wanting to smash them together.Fingers dive into untamed blond and _ffffuck it all_ \- they pull a moan right out into this war of mouths.

He's glorious. It doesn't matter how much power and control Sebastian might think he has, he's losing to this tiny, gorgeous devil who finds parts of him he didn't know were there and wrenches them out into exposure. Sebastian is already riled, pressing hips down and grinding against any scrap of pressure they find. Digits under layers of thin fabric move to defined ribs and curve around the side of his body to jerk James up tighter, torsos coming together in a crush of barrier and bone to press his heat into the form that desperately needs it. Fuck delicate. They have no use for it.

\---

Jim's lungs begin to burn with the need of proper oxygen and he's forced to break away with a gasp as Sebastian jerks him up to grind down against him. Even through the layers of fabric he can feel how hard, how solid the body is above him. In more ways than one. His fingers clutch tighter, yanking pale blond and supporting him as he bends up, trapped between a broad chest and a strong arm that crushes him forwards.

He shifts his hips and rolls them against that solid surface, chasing the friction rough fabric gives him. Tension and pleasure spark up his spine. Jim exhales against Sebastian's cheek, tilting his chin up so he can murmur beside the boy's ear. Jim isn't mindless with passion like Sebastian seems to be, he has more of a grasp of what's occurring. But does Sebastian realize what he is doing, who he's doing it with? Or is he just blindly chasing pleasure, taking it, _stealing it?_

"What would your friends think of you now? Writhing on the ground with the enemy?"

\---

Mindless, hardly, but passion; oh how that fire is doused in alcohol as James shifts against him. Meeting the collision of their hips, denim scrapes together as they begin to charge after the sensations thick fabric wants to dull.

With their mouths apart, Sebastian tilts his head to press against the other boy's jaw line, dragging in heavy breath as he advances over untouched skin. He isn't lost. He knows exactly who he pulls against him- who riles his blood fanatically. He hasn't stopped thinking about him for weeks, by now it's turning into months. This thrilling work of tempestuous art that so easily molds against him now.

Every tug of Jim's fingers in his hair makes his breath stutter; liquid Irish inclination at his ear and it's not spitting malice when words fall against him. And what would they say? Would they taunt him? Scream and try to make sense of his betrayal? Brand him their enemy too? Well. Good luck with that.

"Hard to talk without their fucking teeth." He speaks in a breathy growl against skin moist from his tongue, drawing down farther to the pliant dip of James' neck.

"And I don't think they can afford any more favors." Lips part and he bites at the supple skin, his hand sliding down Jim's spine to the curve of his hip where calloused fingers squeeze.

\---

There's a hot puff of air breathed over Sebastian's ear as Jim laughs with that reply. Sebastian has forsaken those he called friends for a bit of lust that has flared up beneath a thin veil of malice. Perhaps they never had his loyalty in the first place; maybe he is only loyal to himself. It'd be a wise code to live by. Jim enforced such a thing on his own person.

But loyalty has no place amongst writhing bodies and the exploration of teeth across collarbone. Sebastian is handsy, touching what he can before it’s taken away from him. Surely he's had flesh at his disposal before but has it incited this sort of fiery desperation? He acts as if Jim is burning a hole through him and yet still he touches- still he tries to devour the flame that has ignited beneath him.

It’s an assault yet again, there is no doubt of that. Though while Sebastian uses Jim's body to chase his own pleasure, Jim in return uses his; pushing and rubbing against a broad torso and powerful hips to find that friction that sparks sensations in his lower abdomen in a way he's never felt before.

Arousal has made his accent thicker, the words drawling together in a lazy slur. The fingers in blond straw tug back tighter, no doubt painful. Just as painful as the other hand that lifts up and claws fingers down the side of Sebastian's neck, leaving red lines beneath the path of each digit.

"Tell me more about how _hard_ things are, hmm?"

\---

Those vicious little hands are perfectly relentless, forcing out an exhale as his head is pulled back, mouth disconnected from tending the blossom of red it's left behind. Sebastian hisses as fingers drag down his neck in traceable streaks, moaning the air that falls out of his lungs again. It's enough to drive him bloody mad, thrill becoming energy becoming passion.

What is there to say about how he aches fiercely, wanting nothing more than to peel off those damn layers; to put his hands all over Jim and feel his cool skin, the flex of his chest with every breath, the fury of his hands digging in. He can't get anymore more fucking aroused. But he doesn't dare stop to untangle now because that's all it could take to lose him. A second too long could change James' mind.

His hand moves, sliding roughly down to one of those slim thighs where it curls beneath the underside. His voice is low and laced with breathy desire.

"Why do I need to tell you?"

Sebastian mashes his mouth against the other boy's jaw line, shifting his knee between slender thighs and yanking that small leg into a bend to pull hips and groin even tighter together with abrupt force.

"Can't you feel it?"

He grinds hard against Jim, rhythmless against each other, denim casting nearly painful friction against his trapped cock. A groan rolls deep in his throat, seething that first syllable. "F-uck! I've never wanted anyone so badly."

He gasps utterly ragged and silences himself on skin, biting ivory neck with far less restraint. Neither his body nor his words tell lies; he's absolutely desperate for him.

\---

It's true, if Sebastian stopped to pull back and begin tugging their clothing off, Jim would more than likely shove at him and leave the older boy wanting. He's fickle to begin with and what currently unfolds between them has occurred on a whim. Jim wouldn't call himself a sexual being. He doesn't search it out, doesn't fantasize or get things like silly crushes.

Until now, when Sebastian tackled him to the ground and forced his libido awake.

His thoughts are fractured like breaking glass as Sebastian tugs his thighs apart and practically drapes Jim's legs around him, manipulating the slim body to better mold against his own. It brings them together even more abruptly, that savage grind sparking pleasure up his spine that has him crying out at the rough scrape of denim and cotton against his cock. He's harder than he can ever remember being and now it isn’t going ignored as it usually does.

Sebastian’s voice is a deep rumble, pressed against his jaw and rattling through his teeth like he could bite right into the words and have them burst on his tongue. First it's teasing but it dissolves into nonsense, the sort of thing men spout in fits of passion when their thoughts stem from their prick and not their brains.

In this moment he wants Jim.

And in this moment Jim wants Sebastian, so he clings tighter and hangs on for dear life as the thick body rocks down against him, pulling a moan from his lips that rattles his chest. He feels pressure on his neck as Sebastian bites into his skin, and with a wail, he pulls at the boy's hair hard enough to rip it from the scalp if he didn't have such a large handful of it.

\---

The painful pull of small fingers drags his teeth from their clench and left behind are perfect imprints blushing red against the white. It stops his mouth temporarily but it doesn't stop his body from trying to find sense in his movement with every twist and drag of his hips, searching for stronger sensations. Hand on thigh gravitates from to hip and waist and back again in his quest for leverage in better angles. Meanwhile his stemmed arm begins to ache, the nerves in his wrist weakening but he doesn't dare shift its position or he risks losing its usefulness.

It's torture. Lovely, brilliant fucking torture listening to James cry out and feeling the smaller body pressed up tight and desperate against his. It's still not enough. He wants more of James. His touch, his voice, his taste- a swirl of everything new and exciting in Sebastian's mundane, predictable world. _James James James._ Stupid bloody layers and hard ground and a hostile history getting in the way of everything and yet nothing all at the same time. _Jim Jim Jim._ It cycles through him with every beat. _  
_

A groan escapes him as he rocks faster but try as he might, biting his own damn lips has no satisfaction the way it does the other boy's soft skin. He finds another place, another patch of flesh and flexing muscle along the curve of neck and shoulder; sucking, biting, bruising the tender surface until it's broken, wanting more of that voice. Damn where they are and how they got here.

\---

His fingers finally loosen from Sebastian's hair, the joints aching from clutching so tight. But he's not finished; rather, he turns his aggression to the length of Sebastian's back, clawing down it like a deranged cat with nails curved into talons. The older boy's clothing acts as a shield for surely Jim would be rending flesh if not for that barrier. He is vicious, with no filter on the destruction that stems from his hands.

Jim's voice is breaking as the teeth pinch his skin and his lips tremble as he fights back a scream. His brain is starting to disconnect from his words and he begins talking breathily, getting higher and higher pitched until Sebastian grinds his teeth together, breaking the skin. He cries out against Sebastian's hair and bucks against him frantic and uncoordinated, absolutely no rhythm in the way he writhes beneath the other boy.

The pain tinging the edge of pleasure makes him experience everything sharper, more focused. Solid, steady Sebastian trying to keep himself controlled and Jim just wants to wreck him, crumble him down and build him back up. But he can feel himself start to lose it, moaning like a wanton whore. He's a fucking selfish brat, so he doesn't care if Sebastian gets off before he does- he’ll shove him off if he hasn't yet. So he just keeps arching and grinding until the friction is unbearable and he starts coming right in his pants and jeans, his whole body lit up like lightning.

\---

Jim's unrestrained sounds make it bloody impossible to maintain sanity. The writhing beneath him is horrible bliss, nails against his back in phantom suggestions of what he could do if not inhibited by frustrating layers of cloth. He tilts his head aside and exhales a ragged "Fuck" as fingers drag against exposed hip, a tremble in his body betraying that he gave in first. It’s warmth flush against the fabric restraining him, damp and viscous.

It’s almost excruciating when Jim keeps rubbing against him for moments after, pressing back a grunt behind his abused lips. But it’s worth the shudder he feels beneath him and the clutch of body tight against him, turning his face to steal sight of Jim's expression. Sebastian is strapped for air as if it had never caught up, dragging it into his lungs in great pulls that expand his chest.

\---

Jim goes boneless and melts back down to the ground, closing his eyes. He rides out the high of adrenaline and oxytocin and countless other hormones racing through him- his brain is too euphoric to properly name them all. The buzz, the voices and that constant frantic energy has all stopped. Everything is blissfully quiet. His neck is bruised with teeth marks and the taste of metal lingers on his lips, a flush to his pale cheeks. He looks absolutely wrecked. Slowly but surely he returns to himself and something slides back into place, the haze clearing from his eyes. He groans and puts his hand on Sebastian's broad chest, shoving him off and away, mumbling for him to get off. Jim climbs to his feet but they betray him with instability.

\---

For the minutes that follow everything is in acute focus, the blood rushing around and all those delightful chemicals having the opposite effect in making Sebastian alert. He watches- just watches Jim laying there as if it's the most fascinating thing to behold in the known universe. Whether chemicals tell lies or sentiment is actually lingering, he can’t pick them apart. James is the fixation that keeps his heart pounding even when the frantic energy has settled.

Jim has left a mask lowered just long enough for Sebastian to watch it snap back into place. He lets himself get shoved off, collapsing to the side. Only then does he realize how badly his arm aches, wrist utterly stiff and searing with pain that crawls agonizingly up his arm. But how lovely it is to be so close; so much that he can't help but laugh softly to himself.

\---

When Sebastian starts laughing, Jim snaps his head up and turns a glare on him immediately. He takes in Sebastian's prone form, easily reading the tension and stiffness in his wrist. Lifting a foot, he just fucking stomps on it. Grinds it beneath his trainer as easily as he ground against Seb not even minutes ago. He’s fucking furious for letting himself get carried away like that and now Sebastian is laughing at him. The disgusting, sticky feeling in his clothes only worsens the revulsion and stalks off deeper into the park, leaving Sebastian and the torn journal he wanted back so badly.

\---

He doesn't expect it- it's not something anyone sane would do but there's James. Forever unpredictable. Rubber smashes down against his already aching wrist, the heel grinding down against thin tissue, tendon and bone until it snaps from the pressure. Sebastian practically yells in pain, his body curling inward and rolling towards the arm. The other hand slaps down on its opposite’s forearm as if he could cut off nerves and stop the burn from spreading through the limb but it’s useless. Surely it’s broken. Jim doesn't weigh much but he's absolutely vicious. Sebastian’s entire body cringes as the limb is released from beneath the sole, writhing for a moment in vocal torment and barely managing to lift his head and call after the other boy.

\---

Jim just shakes his head and blocks out Sebastian's screams. He’ll ignore him, fully convinced Sebastian was just fucking with him the whole time. Now he’ll go back and have a laugh with his mates- whatever’s left of them. Well not now. He'll be a bit delayed by another fucking hospital visit.

Jim picks leaves out of his hair furiously and tugs down his shirt as he tries to distance himself. It’s broad daylight, there’s fire and someone yelling. Someone will come by. Probably.

\---

Hardly. Sebastian has already rolled up off the ground, unceremoniously gotten to his feet and started chasing the fucker down in a damn near sprint because his legs still work perfectly well. He keeps his arm pinned close to his body like a cradle and when he catches up with Jim, he grabs for him with the good hand, jerking him about face.

"What the hell?!"

\---

Jim hears Sebastian crashing through the grass and scattered leaves but before he can make his escape, the blond has already grabbed him and spun him around. Jim's eyes flit down to the swelling, obviously broken wrist but when his eyes flick back up to Sebastian's snarling face, they're completely dead. All of his masks have slid back into place.

"Get. Off." He repeats, wrenching his arm back with a growl.

\---

Bless his speed and bless his physicality but it is a wretched pain, burning to the elbow and trembling all the way to his shoulder even as the arm stays clutched to his torso. Yet still he stands there, confusion and anger riled up as if the agony revived his rage from the depths of its barely settled cavern. There is no feud over Jim’s arm, allowing it to be pulled free of his single handed grip. He gestures with that good hand, back towards the fire they’ve left behind.

"What the bloody hell was that? Your retaliation? Awfully long setup."

\---

Once Jim has retrieved his arm, he reels back a few steps and glowers at Sebastian, smoothing out his shirt sleeve like a few wrinkles are somehow more offensive than broken bones. At Sebastian's words he starts to blink but quickly shakes it away and snarls in return.

"That's exactly what it was. Now stay the fuck away or I'll break something even more important next time."

\---

He cannot make sense of what is happening. There is no keeping up with this bloody game between them- especially not while the pain radiates through his hand with the tension he tries to control. Sebastian huffs with exasperation, shaking his head short and irritable and utterly incredulous.

"You're going to have to try a lot fucking harder than that."

\---

Jim just glares up at him, not saying a thing- thinking, thinking, idly licking his lip and the vague taste of blood that lingers there from Sebastian’s just makes him angrier.

"Is that a fucking challenge?"

\---

Even though his arm is downright trembling, he stands his ground beneath that cold stare. His lips part to pant softly beneath the intense exchange of glares between the pair of them. James is equally enticing as he is damn well infuriating in that moment. He tempts the devil when he spits his words through gritted teeth.

"Consider it."

\---

Jim growls and whirls on his heel, wrapping his skinny arms around himself as he leaves the boy there with his battered wrist. He begins calculating a multitude of ways to kill Sebastian Moran but his thoughts are interrupted by the expression the blond wore- looking at Jim in pure awe like he was something _precious._ He just wants to claw his eyes out in frustration.

\---

This time he doesn't follow. It's too intense; the adrenaline is wearing thin and agony hits in stronger waves. He just watches Jim stalk off into the trees, lovely and angry and he wants to hate the little shite- push him out of his mind and suffocate this stupid obsession. But good fucking luck, Moran.

It must be a minute pure that he stands there, caught in a spiral of frustration burrowing into his aching bones. Sebastian drops to a knee and twists his face, trying to focus around the pounding getting louder in his left ear. The nearest hospital must be St. Mary’s but it’s too long of a walk. Eton is in the opposite direction by train.

It doesn’t matter, he’s fucked either way.

\---

Ten fucking minutes. Ten minutes of fretting and ranting to himself and pulling at his hair until it's even more messy than usual until FINALLY, Jim comes back with some decently sized sticks he broke off of saplings. He takes the sleeves off his button up underneath the jumper and rips it to strips, dropping in front of Sebastian to make a splint. He’s careful with his wrist but very quietly calls Sebastian an idiot the entire time the limb is secured. He pulls the oversized blond to his feet and walks him to the nearest edge of the park where he hails down a cab to take them to the hospital.

\---

Why he was still sitting there, he doesn't know. Because he was utterly distraught? Not that he'd admit it. Because he was waiting? For what? The pain to ease? Bloody right. Angels were going to come down from the heavens and bless him back to health, obviously.

And there's Jim. Indecisive, angry Jim. He doesn't say a bloody word, insults or not. Just cringes and swallows and tries to control his breath but he's still panting softly. His arm may be busted but the shaking hasn't reached his legs, their well enough to trail alongside the other boy in a pace that isn’t torturously slow. They sit in the cab utterly silent and he wants to thank him- which is ridiculous really because it’s his bloody fault- but Jim would probably break his splint to spite him. So he shuts his fucking mouth and stares at the other boy instead because what else is he going to do. Trying to figure out the impossible is the best distraction he has.

\---

Jim would never ever say he was sorry. This was as much of an apology that Sebastian was ever going to get. Jim is shamefully poor and has no money to pay the fare but _deduces_ the driver within an inch of a mental breakdown. They don't have to pay, just get out. He lets Seb lean on him and walks them into St. Mary’s where he fetches the nurses to come and look at the blonde's wrist. They all mill about him because he's fucking gorgeous and coo and fawn over him and Jim slips out during all the commotion, leaving Sebastian to be fixed without so much as a goodbye or even a threat. He walks home and it takes nearly an hour but he doesn't care.

\---

Drugs can be nice, right? High doses make your brain fuzzy and the pain is _gone. Gone. Gone._ But in the buzz of confusion and slowed thoughts around circling bodies, Jim is gone too and he swears and spits and gets ornery. The nurses just flock all around him more because they think he's in shock.

Sedated. Subdued.

He utters slurred irritations until he can't tell if he's thinking them or saying them. Doesn't matter. He's fucked either way.

They call the school. The school contacts his father.

\---

Jim goes home to his pathetic flat and peels off his clothes to take a shower. He tries his best to soak and salvage his denims but the fucking pants are ruined and he throws them away with the ripped button up he sacrificed. And afterwards he curls up under ratty blankets and tries to keep warm but he is more miserable than usual and sleep never comes because it’s fucking Jim. He just stares at shadows and the shapes they make on the walls for hours.

\---

Sebastian is catered to, fawned over and treated like a bloody prince. His father tells the school he will deliver him in the morning and a driver picks him up to take him clear across London, out into the edge of countryside and down the long street of houses not nearly as old as they look. Sebastian sleeps in the back seat because he can scarcely keep his head up; his arm is in a cast which sits in a sling. There will be no Rugby for two months minimum.

There's a lecture at home: If he gets kicked out of Eton for sneaking out, he'll be sleeping in the streets. A smart mouth with no filter from brain to tongue means the lecture comes with bruises but he can't feel most of it thanks to the drugs and that's a blessing. The night is restless, filled with arguments and Sebastian sleeps on the way back to Eton, propped up in the only position that doesn’t smart through the drugs. It's a leisurely Sunday, so he stays in bed and at least he’s permitted to skip Chapel. The school goes rather easy on him- after all, he must be going through something after what happened to his mates.

Sebastian gets a new leather bound journal and writes. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday- he explains to no one but his classmates make quiet assumptions about what Moran has been up to these past weeks.

Saturday he goes searching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The major note I want to make is that the format changes a bit towards the end of this chapter and through chapter five. The posts are considerably shorter. This is actually where we began originally because this idea started out as a fic I was going to write and ended up as an RP-fic we are writing together. Leaving it that way was also a bit tactical to the mood of the events. We tried to smooth out the transition a bit and apologies for how jarring this might be to anyone. I go back to being a windbag later (unfortunately?)


	5. Keep Yourself Warm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're wearing me out  
> But I'm wearing you down.
> 
> The story of Moriarty and Moran, from the very beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This will be updated every Saturday!**
> 
> A minor warning for mention about the previous chapter's dub-con.
> 
> Thanks go to [Hippano](http://hippano.tumblr.com/) for beta and editing~!

All week, Jim's attendance is sporadic at best. It’s just the bare minimum to pass, though he's already turned in all the coursework for the semester, so his grades don't suffer. He eventually collapses out of pure exhaustion towards the middle of the week and sleeps for 2 whole days without ever getting out of bed. When Saturday comes along and he finds Sebastian looking for him, he rolls his eyes but doesn't bother avoiding him because then he'll just be stalked. He walks right over to Sebastian and eyes the cast, then stares back up at the blond boy and rolls his shoulders in a shrug.

"You're in my spot. Get lost."

\---

Jubilee is not that big but it teems with life on a weekend. It’s not the first place he’s looked but it’s where he ends up, leaning against a tree just off the path because the benches are practically spilling with people already. By now he refuses to keep on the sling. It's restricting and it makes him feel helpless. As a result, he keeps doing things he shouldn't with that hand.

He's nursing a cigarette which burns down as he takes a drag, moving from where he leans against the tree and going right back to what he was doing- nothing mostly. But now his eyes drag over Jim from head to toe and there's lingering delight at the scarred corner of his mouth.

\---

Jim scrunches his nose up at the acrid smell of the smoke and wriggles into his claimed spot, plopping down and pulling his backpack into his lap. He curls his legs around it protectively and tugs out a book, just barely paying attention to it as he stares out over the passing crowd. He picks apart the people with rapid flickers of his eyelids, looking for the best potential marks to steal wallets and bill folds from so that he can actually get something decent to eat. Promptly, Jim ignores Sebastian.

\---

Sebastian glances at his watch; it's stupidly expensive and about the only thing he inherited from his father in the form of a gift. Tossing the smoke leisurely across the way where it skips between moving feet on the busy pavement, he glances down at Jim perched on the ground. It reminds him of the hawks that would sit on the garden walls of the manor.

Sebastian can guess why he's here in a more populated area and it's nothing to do with Jim being sociable.

"You hungry? It's about lunch."

\---

"Then go eat. You're blocking my view."

Even though he's not looking anywhere close to Seb's direction. He picks at his fingernails and tries to look utterly bored but his stomach gurgles obscenely loud at the suggestion and he drops his thin arms to wrap around his middle, trying to stifle its sound.

\---

"Bloody hell, is everything difficult with you?"

Maybe this is what it was like for staff at the manor to deal with _him_. Intentionally ornery about the smallest of things. Sebastian is still watching him but he doesn’t bother pointing out obvious things like how horribly skinny James is or how miserable he looks or how loud his body language screams. If he gets a decent meal once a day, Sebastian might be mildly surprised.

\---

Jim turns his head up to Seb and scowls because yes, everything _does_ have to be difficult. But he is really hungry, so after an internal debate, he stuffs his book back into his rucksack and climbs to his feet, shoving the sleeves of his too long cardigan up to his elbows.

"Fine. Lunch."

\---

Sebastian tries tries _tries_ not to smile. Because it's too much like a date to ask what he wants, he just picks a place. It's close and it's decent and it's not absurd so maybe the blow to his pride will be lessened. Or whatever Jim’s stubbornness is about.

With a little nudge of blond head, he leads the way and on the short walk out of the park, back into the towering bustle of city.

He glances over with a suggestion.

"If it makes you feel better, think of it like blackmail."

\---

He reluctantly follows after Sebastian, clutching his bag to his chest like a shield because he is so fucking tough, but this sort of thing terrifies him. And he has no idea what Sebastian wants with him or when the punishment from the broken wrist is going to come- but hey, if he gets something to eat out of it, whatever. He scoffs as Sebastian mentions blackmail and looks up at him with a defiant set of his jaw.

"People have to care about me to make blackmail effective. So no, that won't work."

And he pushes past Sebastian into the restaurant and picks a table where he can put his back to the wall, ignoring the hostess' suggestions for seating.

\---

Sebastian shrugs loosely and flashes a stupid, charming little smile and that seems to appease the hostess out of her little huff of exasperation. She follows to their seating with the usual promise that a waiter will be with them shortly and as she walks off, Sebastian’s eyes go to Jim across the table.

"I was talking about me. Son of -" and this was said with mocking flourish- " _Sir_ Augustus Moran, in a scandal with another boy. Broken wrist and benched."

He gestured with the busted limb. "For some reason, people care what a Minister's son gets up to."

He pauses for a moment, shrugging slightly. "I was also just trying to make you laugh."

An impossibly tough crowd, apparently.

\---

Jim rolls his eyes at Sebastian's smile and snatches a menu without any thank you's to the hostess, scanning over the items disapprovingly. He looks up over the list as Sebastian talks, one eyebrow arching. Jim knows who Augustus Moran is because he fucking reads the paper, unlike most people his age. Something unpleasant churns in his stomach at the mention of a scandal with 'another boy.' Jim buries himself back under the menu and tunes out the rest.

"It's nice to know you're making a career out of becoming a violent rapist."

\---

"Rapist?" He utters the word incredulously, glancing off and prodding the scar on his lip with the tip of his tongue. As he inhales heavily, he drags his good hand down over his face, pulling on his lips before his hand falls heavy to the counter. He sighs. Was Jim wrong? By technical definition- _Bloody hell._

"Are you making a career out of assaulting rugby teams?"

It’s none at all bitter as the words could be. After all, they brought it on themselves.

\---

Apparently making his selection, Jim sets his menu down and stares over at Sebastian, drinking in every bit of him while he's staring off in thought distractedly. Dark eyes follow the prod of a tongue against the scar Jim inflicted on him, which is somehow endearing to him. The first hint of a smile curls the corner of his mouth but it's mocking at best and doesn't quite reach his eyes. "At that, I am a consummate professional. 5-0."

\---

Blue flickers back at him and after a second to register how brazen the statement was, he can't help but laugh quietly at it. The waitress pops up at last and takes down their order. Sebastian orders what appear to be his norm because he never even picked up the menu; some sort of sandwich and chips with a cup of coffee.

His eyes linger while Jim orders but they flicker away to the closest window thereafter. There is a distinct lack of guilt and shame between the pair of them. And absolutely no apologies.

\---

Jim hems and haws over his choices, purposely annoying the waitress and asking hundreds of questions even though he knows what he wants. When she seems ready to explode, he finally orders a chicken salad sandwich and opts for fresh fruit rather than chips. If he's getting decent food, the vitamins are most important. He just sticks with his water, pulling the glass towards him, fingers slicking with condensation. He has to push his sleeves up again before taking a sip, throat working in a slow bob as he drains down half the glass in one go.

\---

And he's watching him again, like a trophy wife eying jewels. It was a hypnotic trance. The way he moves; his skinny little arms under that oversized top, the spasm of muscle movement in his throat, lips on the glass. The fact he badgered the waitress as if to spite her for breathing his air.

 _Fucking hell. Get a grip, Moran._ Eyes down on the table, he licks his lips again- slowly, thoughtfully- feeling out the raised sliver that cuts through his lip.

\---

Jim sets the glass back down and sucks the moisture off his lip, his eyes darting around the restaurant to take it all in. When he isn't staring directly into your soul hatefully, his eyes are soft and brown and bright, overlarge for his face, making him look almost innocent. How wrong that assumption is. He finally turns back to Sebastian and speaks very bluntly.

"What do you want."

\---

Sebastian looks up from his musings, as far off as they have gone in the silence. A brow quirks upward and his chin tilts a bit like a dog listening with interest.

"I have to want something?"

\---

Jim frowns at that because everyone has always wanted something. He's not stupid, he knows what Sebastian wants; he'd already proven that. Already taken that. Jim glances down at his water then back to the kitchen where his food is being prepared. His jaw sets in anger. He sure as hell isn't a whore.

"Everyone wants something."

\---

Sebastian’s expression twists around the mouth, giving a little nod of agreement, a noise in the back of his throat. He sits back and folds his arms over his chest.

"Well. You're already sitting here, so I can check that off the list. And lunch is ordered, so that's out of the way. All that leaves is... getting out of Eton, moving out of London, and figuring you out. Order pending."

\---

Jim finally laughs. It's a high pitched, tittering giggle but there's something distinctly hollow about it. It's not a happy laugh; Jim isn't capable of those.

"You'll never figure me out. Might as well work on the other two. Take up a hobby. Bird watching. Stalking doesn't look so good on an application for Uni."

\---

It's a little jarring, perhaps because it's the first time and perhaps because it's practically mocking him. Seb's lips twitch, blue eyes narrow a little. He’s already bird watching. The older boy shrugs a bit at the mention of Uni, as if it matters nothing. And it doesn’t because it’s already in the script written about his life.

"Ah, that's my fatal flaw, wouldn't you say? I can scarcely resist challenge." It's utterly aloof.

 

\---

And Jim- just like that- relaxes. He leans forwards and props elbows on the table, chin atop palms on a perch that has him surveying this afternoon's companion with a little v of a smile carved across his lips.

"Fatal is the correct choice of words." He hums and leans back again, constant nervous energy flitting like a humming bird from one flower to the next.

\---

To Jim's words, Sebastian just smiles because everything, absolutely everything about the other was a challenge and that made Jim a drug to Sebastian Moran. Watching him closely, that blond head tilts again, nodding his jaw towards him.

"And what is it that you want?"

\---

Jim's eyes grow half lidded as he regards the question. Black lashes are an inky smudge on his pale cheeks, fluttering in thought... and then he gives his answer. The only answer he can even consider really. "To watch the world burn. Down to ash, so it can all start again."

It's morbid but it's truthful. Jim hates the world with everything he is. It keeps him going, that hate.

\---

Another person would have been alarmed. Especially out of the mouth of a teenager known to assault considerably larger boys into terrified silence. A sane person, you might say, would distance themselves promptly and contact authorities.

Sebastian Moran fucking smiles. That curl of a smirk that made his mates nervous because it usually followed up with something dangerous. Like being punched in the mouth.

"Thrilling."

As if he could become any more appealing.

\---

"You don't even know just how thrilling I can be~"

He drawls the words out, voice taking on a singsong voice. He straightens up as the waitress arrived, focusing his unnerving stare upon her and sending her skittering off as quickly as she could set down their plates. Jim doesn't bother with preamble. He digs right in, picking at the bread on his sandwich and popping it between his lips, chewing and swallowing before he take the next morsel into his mouth. Sebastian's smile didn't intimidate him. It was something real in a world of lies. Refreshing.

\---

He laughs breathily as she skittered off so quickly, watching her glance nervously back in their direction from across the room, trying her best not to look like she was gossiping with the hostess. No charming smile is offered. His attention returns to Jim momentarily and then shifts to his sandwich because he’s bloody hungry after skipping Chambers to go out early searching for Jim. He pops a chip in his mouth, half sticking out as he prepares his coffee. Two spoonfuls of sugar and no milk. He stirs, sips, and begins devouring his sandwich.

Food is a good way to keep his mouth shut anyway.

\---

Jim isn't so forgiving as to allow Sebastian the silence he needs to keep his foot from his mouth, or food for that matter. After plucking up pieces of sliced strawberry with his fingers and popping them into his mouth to chew, Jim stares at the boy across from him as if he were not a person but a puzzle to figure out in his own right.

"What other things are you good at? Besides Rugby and pinning people down against their will. Since you can do neither in your current condition, you've become so useless."

\---

Sebastian glances up from the plate, chewing and swallowing the mouthful he was on. He cocks his head a little, nodding to the good limb which clutches his sandwich.

"I still have my other hand." His lips are parted with the tail of his words and he almost smirks but instead he shrugs.

"If you asked the beaks; languages and writing. But that's just a hobby." He takes another bite.

\---

Jim snarls at that quip before sinking his teeth into the sandwich and ripping through the soft bread, glaring at Sebastian as he chews. He swallows and rubs his thumb over his lip, collecting a smear of dressing and sucking it free of the digit, murmuring matter of factly around it.

"Thankfully, now I know where to aim next time."

He glances back down at his sandwich, a slight furrow to his brow as he thinks. Rugby players usually don't write. Sebastian's book had been... interesting, though Jim had only seen it as an insult. He wonders if it was still somewhere in the dirt back at the park. He makes a note to go looking for it later. "You seem to have lots of hobbies."

\---

Jim's spite amuses him and not in a mocking way as if he doubted the capability. He knows twice over that the other boy is perfectly willing and able to make good on his threats. It’s not exactly like Sebastian hasn’t lent himself out to the trouble, either. It’s problematic, isn't it? But he can't help himself.

Seb returns to his own lunch, a chip picked up in the fingers of his bad hand, biting it in half. When he swallows, he answers in a sort of half aloof, half bitter way.

"Hobbies are all I get."

\---

"Get new ones."

Jim spits back, pulling apart his sandwich and disassembling it into a mess on his plate. He picks at the parts he likes and leaves the other bits dotted around his dish, returning to the fruit salad. It is an opportunity to eat that he should be taking proper advantage of but Jim is much too fucking stubborn for that.

\---

It’s kind of cute how he picks apart his food but to hell if Sebastian is ever going to say that out loud, so he watches with interest instead. Finishing off the other half of his chip and going for another, he speaks between them, gesturing with it.

"Any suggestions?"

\---

"Self implemented lobotomies."

Jim quips, shoveling a bit of banana into his mouth and chewing it like he was angry at the fruit and masticating it as punishment. He brings the overlong sleeve up and rubs at a smear at the corner of his mouth, then picks up his sweating glass of water and drains another long swallow, this time finishing it off and leaving only ice chips.

\---

Sebastian furrows his brows, humming with expressive consideration.

"Hmmm. And take the privilege away from you? What a spoil."

On he eats and watches. That nervous energy seems to translate into the way James devours his food, hurrying through his meal. Or devastating it, perhaps.

\---

Jim makes a noise like a whine in the back of his throat, frustrated that Sebastian is just not taking the hint. He shoves his plate away and reaches for a handful of napkins, starting to shred them between his pale fingertips.

"...If you're offering. I've always been curious about dissecting the human brain and seeing how the lot of you idiots can possibly function."

\---

It's so stupidly indulgent, how he enjoys that little noise. The way Jim fidgets and seeks something out with his hands is so familiar to Sebastian, a restlessness turned to contained violence in a way he knows too personally.

"Well, it _is_ an opportune time to pin me down. I do only have one hand."

\---

Jim considers and then, as if a switch is flipped, his whole demeanor changes. Lips part and his tongue slides slowly along the ridge of his teeth, tracing each one as if memorizing the sharpness of every tooth.

"Is that what you want, Sebaaaastian~? Me to hold you down and cut you? Make you bleed for me?"

\---

It’s a strange new tactic and he doesn’t miss the abrupt shift it creates. Sebastian pauses eating, hand poised over the plate of his half eaten meal. After a moment of consideration for this new attitude, he leans forward and lowers his voice conspiratorially.

"Is that what _you_ want?"

Oh, but he can't help staring straight into those dark eyes.

\---

Quick and unexpected (everything with him is unexpected after all) Jim kicks out under the table and catches Sebastian's shin with his foot. He stands up abruptly and knocks half of their dishes to the ground with a noisy clatter of smashed porcelain and glass, catching the staff's attention.

"I want you to leave me the fuck alone!"

 

Jim stalks off into the crowd of approaching servers and that starry eyed hostess, leaving Sebastian with the mess and the bill to distract him as Jim slithers away back out into the street.

\---

Sebastian flinches hard, grunting with the viciousness of sharp pain that spreads like wildfire up his leg. Coffee is spilled into his lap but it's cooled by now, leaving him soggy with warmth. Jim is a whirlwind; a destructive tornado tearing through everything utterly uncontrollable and it's absolutely electrifying.

There's a toothy smile on his parted lips as he watches Jim snake past the servers who come bounding to his aid like he's some kind of fucking royalty but he's used to that. It's the second time Jim puts people between them to get away, as if he can calculate how others will react to the commotion. He's fucking clever and it makes Sebastian as giddy as he is frustrated.

He can't, he just can't bloody help the laugh that stutters out of him breathily and he must have looked a little off but it didn't matter. He waves away the concerned cooing and pulls his wallet out, flipping through obscenities and pulling out a handful of too many pounds.

"This should cover it, right?" And he knows it does so he's getting up, hurrying to get past them and hunt down his escaping quarry.

"Sorry." Yet he's laughing. A meaningless word.

Out on the pavement, he glances back and forth for a sign but Jim would never make it that easy, would he?

\---

He should have eaten more. Should have ordered half the kitchen and made that posh bastard pay for it. But his stomach isn't trying to eat itself anymore and that will get him through the day. Jim hikes his knapsack over his shoulder and darts down alleys and side streets, putting as much distance between him and the restaurant as possible. Distance between him and Sebastian. His teeth worry at his bottom lip, chewing the dry skin to shreds as he considers where to go. Jim has many haunts, but how many of them does Sebastian now know? Finally he settles on a library, where he can at least read and stay out of the rain that threatens, like it always does in London. Sebastian said he likes to write, not read. Maybe he'll be relatively safe, though that in itself has always been an illusion anyways. He never is.

\---

And rain it would. In the hour that Sebastian spends dipping in and out of places he’s met with Jim before, it’s begun to drizzle miserably across the city. His denims are wet and his jacket heavily soaked; the shirt peeking out clings to his body and underneath the translucent white are dark marks of purple and red and pallid yellow but he doesn't notice. He searches for another hour- or maybe it’s longer before he finally gives up.

Beneath the lazy spin of London’s Eye, Sebastian smokes another cigarette and wanders a little aimlessly in quiet, stupid hope but Jim is not so foolish. Eton has its own libraries and he’s much more accustomed to their location- besides, he hates reading indoors, so the thought doesn’t even cross his mind.

Sebastian feels a little miserable but he's stopped limping, so he returns to the dormitory for the afternoon.

\---

It's well into dark and the library is closing when the clerk shakes Jim awake atop the textbook on constellations he fell asleep over. He jolts and slaps the woman's hand away, eyes wide and frightened for a moment before he places where he is. He leaves but not without smuggling the text under his baggy cardigan and then stuffing it into his bag.

London's night life is already blossoming around him but Jim ignores it, heading for the park. He spends an hour searching for the leather bound moleskin but finally locates it under dried and dying shrubbery that didn't last the winter. Fingers clutching the book so tightly they leave indents, he returns to the street just in time to catch one of the last buses. His flat is shite and he's not going to sleep anyways so he takes the train to Windsor, following some rowdy Etonians that are scrambling to get back before curfew.

Jim eyes them the entire time, reading everything about them and by the time the train is pulling up to the station, he has a dormitory room number and a mission. He doesn't go in through the halls, not wanting to deal with dames and prefects. Instead, he judges the room numbers from outside and starts lobbing pebbles at windows, managing to crack one, which makes him grin even though it was unintentional.

\---

Sebastian is asleep. At least mostly, stirring but not awake until he hears the snap on the window which spiders in a small spot. He sits up, the desk light on and a book falling into his lap where it had been resting on his chest. He watches the window suspiciously until another pop sounds and he immediately wonders which head boy or unbusted rugby mate wants a roll in the sack this time but he is so not in the fucking mood. For once.

Getting out of bed, he shoves open the window with his good hand and it's not at all what he expects, but there he is. Jim. Sebastian grins like he can't fucking stand it.

\---

Jim can see him haloed in the light of the room behind him, knows he's there, watches him open the window, but still he chucks another pebble up for good measure, hitting Sebastian square in the chest. He's frowning, which seems to be Jim's default expression but there isn’t much heat to it- not with Sebastian grinning like an idiot. Jim just wants to punch that stupid smile off his face.

"It's cold." He says petulantly, wrenching his gaze away and huffing with a puff of his cheeks and a white burst of air. Of course it's cold. It's fucking London and your options are freezing or freezing and raining.

\---

Sebastian stares down at him for another moment and that grin is something more of an adoring little smile before he nudges his head towards the side of the building. He dips back into the room and his shadow dances as he moves around in the light, pulling on a collared jumper and grabbing a jacket on his way out the door.

He's good at this part, getting through the halls quietly and making sure the doors shut silently. All while checking the stretch of hallways to make sure the Dame is nowhere in sight. He arrives at the back door and steps out, breathing out a little cloud of warmth as the cold chills his exposed skin.

\---

Jim only lingers and watches Sebastian's shadow for a moment before heading towards the back door and crouching on the steps, arms hugging his knees to try and force more warmth into them. His lips and fingertips are tinged blue by the time Sebastian opens the door and Jim forces himself to stand, not bothering to shove his sleeves up because he hasn't got any gloves.

He looks up at the blond and then without a word, shoves the leather bound book into his chest, snatching his hands back just as quickly, as if touching the other boy was likely to burn him.

\---

Sebastian catches the book- barely- with his busted hand, pinning it to his chest between the plaster brace. He glances down at it, then rolls blue over Jim another time, damn near chattering in clothes too thin and too loose on that skinny little frame. It’s the dead of winter, he could practically freeze to death if he held still. Seb jostles his armful until the book is tucked under one muscled arm and uses his good hand to pull the jacket off its loop on the other, spreading the collar with his fingers as he plops it open half on Jim's head and mostly on his shoulders.

"You're going to catch your death out here."

And that's all he says before giving another little gesture of blond and reaching back to pull open the House door.

\---

As the jacket drops, Jim doesn't bother to fix where it lands. He is stubborn yes but not stupid. He's cold and he clutches the four sizes too big jacket around him, still half around his head like he's wearing a hood.

"I'm used to death," comes his lazy reply and as if it’s a motherfucking miracle, he steps into the dormitory's hall, pushing past Sebastian in favor of the circulated heat. His cheeks flush immediately with the change in temperature and his eyes flit around to take in every bit of the posh building, soaking up information like a sponge. He’s been here before.

\---

Sebastian steps in after and pulls the door shut, leading Jim up the stairs and down the hall quietly. Knuckling open his room door without so much as a squeak of the hinge, he lets the other boy inside first, glancing to make certain there were no peeking eyes, but everyone’s holed up in their rooms by now.

The light is dimmed at the desk but it reaches the whole of the small room, casting shadows in corners. It's organized but lived in; books all over the desk and some at its feet in neat piles, sheets tousled where he laid and a leatherback rests in the middle where it was set down. His boots from earlier sit neatly before the wardrobe which remains open and everything inside is tidy without being immaculate. No pictures, no half naked women on posters. His rugby gear is in a locker and there are no trophies or favorite teams or even so much as a logo sitting out. But there's a radio on the bedtable and a pile of CDs under the light. Most of them are classical recordings.

Seb shuts the door and tosses the book onto the bed where it lands on the other one.

"What poor sod did you assault to find me?"

\---

Jim pads after Sebastian, eyes darting around the whole time, taking in nonessential things like the wallpaper and the carpet and how far apart the sprinkler system is. When they reach Seb's dorm room Jim slips inside, still clutching the jacket around him like a caplet. It smells a bit like Sebastian does, cigarette smoke and mud from the rugby fields and oiled leather, but none of it is unpleasant.

Making his way around the room, Jim passes his hands over various items; the spines to books, a leaf of paper, the back of a chair or the wood grain of the desk. He's still taking it all in as Sebastian speaks and he takes his time answering, looking back at Sebastian from beneath his impromptu hood.

"Never asked his name. Didn't matter. He wasn't you."

\---

The corners twitch in a smile and it's a bit smug.

"No one is."

He moves from the door now and sits on the edge of the bed, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows and reaching for the returned book. He flips through it- a bit dirty, a bit moist. He inspects the torn bindings, leftover tears of pages once filled but now nearly none remain. Memory serves him well. He draws his fingers over the surviving pages and still he does not know why the book was destroyed. Or returned.

\---

Jim really has to bite his tongue not to say something nasty and that fact alone surprises him. He chalks it up to not wanting to be thrown back into the cold because the buses have stopped running and it's hours walk in the cold that he doesn't care to make yet.

He turns around and sits himself in the chair at the desk, his feet not quite reaching the ground. He's dreadfully short and swamped in Sebastian's jacket he seems even smaller. After a moment, he breaks the quiet because comfortable silence isn't exactly something Jim does.

"How'd you manage a room to yourself?"

 

Most boys share a room but then Sebastian had to be seventh year, putting him two years older than Jim. Maybe the final year afforded certain luxuries. Jim didn't stay in the dorms at Westminster, so he didn't rightfully know.

\---

Sebastian could be good at silence when he wanted to be. By now he's flipping through the last pages and he understands why they survived: Empty. He'd never left one of them with unwritten pages but somewhere along he decides the state of the book spoke enough volumes that his mind would remember what might have been written. And he'd already started another because he never expected to see this again.

Glancing up at Jim, he hums softly, oddly calm and a bit complacent. He sets the book on the bedside table and his fingers linger on it.

"Everyone at Eton has their own room, even the collegers on scholarship. When royals drop their children here, privacy is a little insistent. They probably think it makes us focus better."

\---

"Are you focused?"

Jim asks with an arch of his eyebrow, sending it disappearing beneath the lip of his hood. He kicks off his mud caked trainers and tucks his feet up under his bum in the chair.

He pulls one of the books off the desk and sets it in his lap, thumbing through it but only half paying attention to any of the pages. He's focused on Sebastian, not looking at him per se but listening to him. His breathing, the shift in his stance.

Sebastian was the sort of boy who went to school with the sons of lords and ladies, dukes and duchesses. Jim lived in a flat without heating. The world was revolting.

\---

It's sort of like a game. One is watching the other and the other is pretending not to. Sebastian finally moves his hand off the battered leather and shifts, awkwardly using only one hand to scoot back on his bed and lean against the wall. His other rests pathetically in his lap as he settles and shrugs a shoulder.

"I'm good at looking like it."

\---

It's an interesting answer. One that's good enough for Jim, who nods and finally lifts his head. He stares at Sebastian now, eyes darting down to the thick plaster cast resting in his lap, useless. He stole two months away from Sebastian and he really isn't even sure why.

Pushing off the jacket and leaving it to sit in the chair, Jim slides down out of the seat and cautiously moves to the edge of the bed. It takes him a moment or two of indecisiveness and then finally he crawls onto the thick mattress, far firmer and plusher than the lumpy bedroll he owns. He crawls over to Sebastian on his hands and knees and then very unceremoniously flops down beside him, curling in on himself and resting his head against the older boy's thigh. It’s as close to an apology as Sebastian's ever going to get.

\---

 

Seb watches. It's all he can do. Watches and attempts to read every visible sign, trying to understand the mystery that was Jim. James with no mentionable last name. Maybe he should have been waiting for Jim to pull something sharp and gut him for being such a fucking git but he isn't and Jim doesn't.

Sebastian moves his good hand up out of the way and stares perplexedly down at the too-skinny little bird with tousled dark hair and clothes too loose that sidled up next to him. He isn't sure what to do but the expression he wears comes back to something familiar and fascinated.

He lowers his hand and his good wrist rests idly across Jim's tiny upper arm- they are practically the same width around. No grabbing, no pinning, no touching sweetly. Just resting.

\---

There's a split second of tension that stiffens through Jim as the weight of Sebastian's wrist drops onto his bicep. But when the hand just rests there and doesn't do anything, he gradually starts to relax bit by bit. He is staring off at the wall on the far side of the room but he's focusing on Sebastian's breathing again, closer this time, louder.

There's the faintest hitch of pain on the end of each exhale and that's Jim there, a throbbing presence of seething ache that had taken root in Sebastian's wrist. He unintentionally burrowed into the older boy and made a home for himself, just like he has on the bed, claiming both it and Sebastian's thigh as his own. As pillows go, Jim's had better but he's also sure as hell had worse.

Jim's quiet, unmoving as he sits there and waits. Waits for something, anything and it never comes and he doesn't know what to do with that. Eventually he's relaxed so much he might as well be sleeping but he isn't and Sebastian surely knows it. He’s at a much higher vantage point, that tall fucker.

\---

This is different.

Seb just watches for what might have been forever with his head tilted down and his eyes scanning head to curled toes. He's calm, almost content and he moves little at all because he knows how fast it can change. Forever just isn't enough.

After a while, when his neck begin to ache with protest, he tilts his head back and the thud is softened by thick blond. His bum wrist lays opposite of his lap from Jim's head and somehow outstretched fingers find fluffy strands of dark brunet, sifting through them in muted gestures. Sebastian closes his eyes because he's tired and he aches and he's getting warm but he won't move about to pull off the jumper or take something or lay down. And that's fine. He knows Jim isn't asleep but he silently wishes he would because some stupid little part of him worries about the heavy bags under his eyes and how late it is and how cold it's been for someone in a permanent state of underdressed for the weather. But he can't and won't say that. So sitting still is all there is.

\---

When the fingers find his hair, he stiffens again but it doesn't last as long as the first time. Jim just isn't used to touching- well, touching that doesn't end up in hurting. Sebastian is an idiot and too handsy and touches without asking but asking would earn him a no because that's Jim and maybe that's why he just does it. He just does a lot of things. Things that should have kept Jim far away but he's curled in the boy's lap, so obviously his judgment is skewed at best. They have that in common.

Finally his weight, slight as it is, grows heavier because he's not keeping himself up anymore. He's drifted off, eyes closed and mouth parted open as he breathes, in and out; just a slow, steady rise and fall of his skinny chest beneath the cardigan and shirt. His hand is tucked up beneath his chin and the other twitches against the duvet. Exhaustion finally won out and he's completely dead to the world for at least a few hours.

\---

Even when Sebastian begins to drift off, his fingers move in a gentle stroke. Briefly, he finds energy again to lift his head and look down at Jim, expecting him to be awake and staring off as if waiting out a predator which stalked him. That makes Sebastian the beast.

But he isn't. And in his sleep, James looks like a child. Just a boy. It makes Seb hold his breath until blond meets the wall again more gently. He's asleep shortly thereafter, steady breaths and twitching fingers but his body doesn't move as if it knows it has to be still for Jim.

\---

Sebastian is warm, _oh so warm_ and Jim curls closer to him as he sleeps. He's oblivious to how uncomfortable this position might be for the older boy and if such a thing were ever pointed out to him, he'd never allow himself this close again. But Sebastian just silently knows and that is something amazing. People don't know how to act around Jim and though Sebastian is certainly no expert, he's come closer than most.

Hours tick by, so many, many more than Jim usually sleeps but it still isn’t anywhere near the healthy amount. He wakes to a foreign room, to a strange body against his and a weird feeling of peace settled deep in his bones that'll take a whole day to dig back out. He remembers where he is and who he's with and slowly sits up, dislodging the hand in his hair carefully so it doesn't jolt in upset. In the dim light his eyes are black, so very black, swallowing up any light they can in a black abyss devoid of any colour. Eyes like that make him look inhuman and the thought is probably not far from the truth.

Those eyes stare at Sebastian, asleep and slouched back against the wall in a position that can't feel good, not when he's already in pain. Jim is that pain and yet he suffers through it without any good explanation other than he must want something. Want it so desperately he's willing to put up with a lot of shite.

Jim doesn't pull Sebastian down to make him comfortable, doesn't tuck him in or fetch a pillow. He leaves the bed. Leaves the room, leaves the college. He takes Sebastian's jacket though. It'll keep him warm and it smells like him and Jim has so very long to walk.

\---

It's minutes, maybe seconds after Jim had left the room that Sebastian startles awake. As if the absence of his presence nearby is a shock to his aching system and now it's too sharp to handle. Morphine drained from his veins.

He sits forward and cringes, his leg asleep and his body is too warm but the room is utterly empty and for a frantic moment he wonders if he was dreaming because it wouldn't be the first time. But on the bed table is a battered journal and a pane of his window is cracked like a lingering spider.

After several deep breaths he moves achingly slow, waking his leg. He yanks off his upper layers with the finesse of one hand, fetching pills from a bottle and swallowing them dry before he lays head to pillow proper.

Fingertips reach out and touch the journal which no longer speaks of Jim but for the smudges of dirt and the warp of wet pages. The lamp is still on across the little room but he leaves it there, reflecting the spider on his window. It takes a lot longer to fall asleep again and by the time he does, daylight is obnoxiously broken past the glass.

\---

It's dark and cold, but none of that is anything new to Jim. Sebastian's jacket is buttoned up and draped around his small frame, hanging past his knees and the sleeves dragging down over his hands. Its overlarge size keeps him warm though and walking down the chilly roadside isn't quite so bad. Jim is no stranger to walking and he actually ate today, though that energy is going to be used up and gone by the time he gets home.

His breath is a white fog that dances before his face like dragon's smoke and his hair is still a hopelessly ruffled mess from Sebastian's fingers raking through it. Jim feels unexplainably light and the endless walk into London doesn't dampen that feeling, not even when the light peeks up and paints the world in a dingy grey dawn.

By the time he's made it back to his flat, he almost wishes he had managed a shower before he left. Hot water would have been a luxury he hasn't had in months. But he's not very sweaty at all due to the temperature, so he strips down to his boxers and climbs into his bed, wrapping Sebastian's jacket back around him. It's warm, warmer than his ratty blankets and that's what he reasons with himself before he drifts out again for a few more hours. With that smell and that warmth it's almost like he was still there and why he left in the first place is beyond him but then again, it's Jim, so it's beyond everyone.

 


	6. Make the Stars Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet me under there.
> 
> The story of Moriarty and Moran, from the very beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This will be updated every Saturday!**
> 
> I've added a few terms to the end notes relating to things mentioned towards the end of the chapter.
> 
> Thanks go out to our darling [Hippano](http://hippano.tumblr.com/) for beta and editing as always.

It's Sunday and Sebastian resists all intense desire to go out. By the time he gets up, it’s well past noon and he's missed both Chambers and Messing. The Dame has checked on him three times already but he keeps blaming his wrist and the medications for making him drowsy. The fourth time she insists that he eats and Sebastian finally gives in. He dabbles in EWs and convinces himself that he needs to stay in; do not be caught out, go to evening Chapel like a good boy and play pretend. He regards the lecture a week ago. But as he sits there surrounded in Etonian posturing, he's regretting it. By nightfall, he's cursing himself over why he gives a damn about being kicked out of Eton or the estate but down in the pit of his churning stomach, he knows that answer already.

Weeks are too long and Sebastian is irritably impatient with everything. Again, his wrist is blamed and no one questions it because they know him well enough. He hates being idle. But idle is all he is with a broken wrist, trapped in the back and forth of div after div and no physical outlet. He refuses the company of others, especially at night. Instead, he writes a lot in the new journal; an abstract little story where he regards a prince who hates his kingdom and seeks to best it. But it's cryptic and written in sporadic beats between irritable rambling about creatures that make too much noise. It’s gravel under the tongue. He keeps glancing at the spider cracks on his window.

Another Saturday at last and he has charmed the House Master into letting him free.

\---

Weekdays aren't so bad because Jim gets free lunches at the cafeteria like some charity case. He knows when to fight his battles and takes the offering, even if the food is horrid and unappetizing at best. Still, it's a meal a day that keeps him from starving and the apples aren't always mealy or brown.

School work never occupies him for long and he spends much of his time in the computer lab, fiddling with bits of code until he's sure he knows all the ins or outs of a world composed of only data. It’s a distraction, it occupies him till he has to go back to his miserable flat where all he has are stolen library books and a jacket that doesn't smell much like _him_ anymore because Jim was greedy and stole all the scent out of the material already.

When the weekend finally comes, he's on his own for food and decides today he'll pick pocket- nothing alarming, just a few pounds to buy some staples of his diet. He's quick like lightning, until he isn't and a burly man with a curling mustache that looks more like a dirty broom hanging over his lip, grabs him by the wrist and shakes him within an inch of his life. His eye becomes intimate with the man's fist and swells shut in a few minutes, left in a jumbled heap.

Jim just lays there and stares at the dull sky from within the pile of trash, with one eye now, wondering if the fast food place will give him a cup of water for the ice.

\---

And there's Sebastian, who appears out of seemingly nowhere but in all truths he's been searching for a while. A breath gets sucked in for control.

He doesn't rush to the side of the younger boy when he finds him but his expression twists as he stops beside the pile he’s been left in, offering his good hand to help Jim up. Brows furrow and there's an edge to his question.

"It wasn't an Etonian, was it?"

\---

Jim nearly bats away the hand when it reaches out to him but he remembers fingers in his hair and he gives in. Reaching up and curling his own spidery digits around Sebastian's, he uses the solid weight of the larger boy for leverage to pull him up onto his feet. He drags his hand back and touches the tender skin around his eye; it'll blacken for sure on his pale, pale skin.

"No."

He says simply, trying to push open his eyelid, but it's not having it. His eye is probably bloodshot anyways, best to just keep it shut. He's wearing a holey jumper today, years faded to a dull oatmeal colour and stains from the garbage he'd been laying in litter his back. That bothers him more than the eye and he gives a long suffering sigh before pulling the whole thing over head, tossing it into the pile and tugging the tee shirt underneath back down over his skinny torso.

\---

Sebastian can't help watching the other boy’s movements, skimming eyes over him from head to toe. There’s no telling what goes on in his head but he’s picking up what might be a pattern. He should be keeping that jumper on but Sebastian doesn’t protest; Jim wouldn’t listen anyway. At least it’s a bit warmer in the day.

He inclines his jaw and reaches over, almost- _almost_ touching Jim's chin to turn his head a little but his hand stops short as if to indicate the other boy hold still for inspection. He's had plenty of black eyes in the past, maybe they both have and he knows it's going to ache and purple hideously. Something in depths if his chest tightens.

Hand falling away, he nods towards the pavement beyond the alley.

"Let's get some ice for that."

\---

Sebastian really lives up to his self imposed stalker title well. Jim stares down the hand as it comes near like it's a giant tanned spider but after a moment's hesitation, when it doesn't actually touch, he turns his head to the side like Sebastian wants. He can't see the other boy like this, not with the damaged eye swollen shut, so he tries his best to just look bored and slumps into a slouch.

When the inspection ends, he turns back to the older boy and climbs out of the trash heap, skidding down the last few steps and stumbling into Sebastian's chest. He stands there for a few seconds, just breathing in and closing the other eye- and then he's pushing away and out of the alley before another word is uttered.

He waits for Sebastian though because he looks like a tramp, especially now. And Sebastian looks... well, perfect. Not even the cast on his wrist mars that good breeding and Jim will get tossed out of any place he wanders into.

\---

Sebastian purses his lips together as Jim collides into him, the not-so-good hand lifting as if to catch and steady, but again the hesitation. It hovers at Jim's shoulder blades and Sebastian's eyes linger when he glances down. The knot tightens under his rib cage and he breathes around it, strong and weighted.

And Jim is right. When Sebastian walks into the nearest food place, they don't question one bit when he asks for ice and something to contain it. They give him a little bag filled well and he turns to hand it to Jim, offering no insult as if he had to baby the little bastard over it. It's a casual question he asks but it's one that Jim's heard.

"You hungry? I haven't eaten."

Half true, he had breakfast but he skipped out of Chambers to get to Westminster early.

\---

Jim lingers a step behind Sebastian but he's hardly morose enough to stare down at the ground. He already well knows what his trainers look like, thank you very much. He accepts the bag filled with chipped ice and presses it to his eye with a hiss, his glare just as effective with only one ocular cavity functioning.

At the mention of food, he turns his stare up to Sebastian and the glare softens to something less liquid loathing, but only just such.

"I could eat," He shrugs as if it didn't matter, as if a meal doesn't sound like the best thing on earth right now, anything to distract him from his throbbing face.

\---

He's a little surprised it's that easy but he half wonders if the meal will end with coffee all over his lap again. A glance at the menu and he orders some burger because this is fast food and he doesn't eat it much but burgers didn't need to be grand.

He skips the coffee for tea and ends his order with "and whatever he wants."

They have no choice but to be pleasant to scowling Jim because Sebastian takes a step back and he's got his eyes on them like a looming shadow over the boy’s shoulder.

\---

Jim studies the menu for a few moments and then doesn't hassle the server behind the counter because they technically gave him ice for his face. Gave Sebastian ice, but whatever. Semantics.

He orders chicken tenders and a chocolate milkshake and thankfully they don't have to wait long which means the food probably isn't the best choice but his metabolism is long since fucked anyways.

Jim leaves the tray for Sebastian to carry but he once again selects the table, a booth with a wall to his back. He slides across the vinyl and reaches for his box of fried chicken parts before Sebastian can even set the tray down, digging through the container and pulling apart each pre-formed piece of meat before popping it into his mouth to chew.

\---

Even with a bum wrist a tray is easy to carry and he needs only his good hand for it, though he does let the other corner rest on the plaster as Jim leads them.

They're sitting and eating again. Seb starts by prepping his tea, steeping the bag but this time there's no smiling and grinning and laughing. You couldn't call it brooding but it was kin, the way his brows were mildly furrowed and his scarred lips set as he picks around a few overdone fries- and these are actual _fries_ because they're thin and mildly pathetic but they taste alright. He's knocking salt off of them now and again but he eventually gets to the eating part while glancing at Jim and his future plum for an eye socket. At least the ice will help numb it but the swelling will scarcely go down.

\---

It's cold outside and milkshakes are probably a horrible idea when you're already skin and bones, but it's sweet and good and Jim doesn't care if it freezes him from the inside out. He nurses at it while pressing the ice bag over his face like an unfortunate pirate, staring at Seb, still easily reading his features even if he's half blind.

He hasn't seen this side of Sebastian yet either and it's odd to see the puzzle from a different angle. The flip side isn't as bright but it's generally composed of the same pieces. Jim is forever blunt and calls him out on it, but it's not out of concern. More like curiosity.

"You're bothered. What's bothering you?" Usually it would be Jim but for some reason he doesn't cause the same upset with Sebastian that he does most other people.

\---

He isn’t really expecting a question but maybe he should have. It’s another hint of something pattern-like; Jim’s abrupt questions in lingering silence. Seb looks up from whatever internal musings are going on in his head, finishing a swallow before he answers.

"You're holding ice to your face and you're asking _me_ what's wrong?"

A little incredulous. He took a sip of tea; it's hot and it's mediocre so he throws another dash of sugar in.

\---

Jim frowns at that; he doesn't like being stated the obvious like he's an idiot. He shifts the bag slightly to form better to the socket of his eye.

"That's what’s wrong with me. Not what's wrong with you."

He trades out the milkshake for a few more pieces of chicken. It's an odd combination but not unpleasant, the salty fried batter complements the overly sweet shake.

\---

And that almost makes him laugh, but it's just a little huff of air with a tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth. _Actually_. What’s wrong is that someone put their fist through Jim’s face and he’s clearly just been a touch too late to catch it happening because the color hasn’t even set in properly yet. That's what’s wrong. But it isn’t the only thing lingering in his thoughts- not by a long shot. He’d rather not say that, either.

Seb stirs the sugar in his tea. "Holiday is coming."

\---

Jim stares again, hand hovering over his plate of food that he's actually almost plowed half way through. He doesn't say anything at first, his expression speaking loud enough. What the hell does that have to do with anything? Is he trying for conversation? That's....unfortunate.

"Alright..." Jim finally murmurs, as if any of it matters. He doesn't go to a prissy college where they send you home every month or so to have your parents fawn over you. He goes home every night and it’s a really fucking depressing home, but it's his.

\---

It wasn't idle conversation, it was half the answer. He'd already given the first half but Sebastian will not be making any clarifications. Neither would Jim likely satisfy him by telling what happened.

So then there's the holiday. And this he does clarify.

"At least when term is on the day is busy. I don't like sitting on my hands." He gestures with the plastered limb. "My consolation for holiday is that Sir Augustus-" and again with that mocking tone- "will not be there."

\---

Jim blinks his good eye, piecing bits together. Sebastian sometimes speaks in cryptic riddles; part of being a writer, Jim supposed. Jim liked riddles but he didn't exactly know Sebastian that well to make any decent guesses. He knew Seb obviously did not get along with his father but then what teenage boy really did?

Jim's brow furrowed just a bit and then finally, "What does that have to do with me?"

\----

Seb pauses all movements and stares directly at Jim, good eye at least. Yes, what does it? A myriad of things really and each one of those answers goes galloping through his head in the silence that lingers between them for a good minute. And it's insane, stupid, probably forward, absolutely bloody ridiculous but-

"You should come with me."

\---

Jim doesn't even blink. He's shocked beyond that and shocking him is a fairly hard thing to do. He matches Sebastian's stare as well he can with one eye, grease covered fingers hovering over his plate of food.

It's a horribly bad idea. Sebastian lives who knows where and Jim could be trapped miles away from anywhere he knows. Jim doesn't go to people's houses, Jim doesn't have friends where that would even come into the equation. Not to mention he'd more or less be at the other boy's mercy.

But....

Jim is also smart enough to take advantage of a good situation and Sebastian is a source of food and warmth during a break where these are scarce commodities. Jim hesitates, wavering, then shrugs and prods at his chicken strips again, wishing he'd asked for some sort of sauce.

"Fine."

\---

He should have tried a little harder to resist but he doesn't and a sharkish smile splits his face from ear to ear, perfect white teeth filling his mouth.

"Brilliant."

He glances down at his plate and takes another bite of burger around his grinning because he's thrilled. And maybe he meant to reassure Jim that he wasn't going to corner him, that he could leave when he wanted and stay in his own room but he doesn't because he's excited and it's fucking stupid. Another long, boring week away for Jim to change his mind, he reminds himself.

\---

He can tell Sebastian was expecting a no and was probably expecting to have to win him over to the idea. This is why Jim never does what is expected of him. It's not like he can't pocket money and leave in a cab if he doesn't like it, which there is an extremely good chance of happening.

He doesn't know what Sebastian wants to happen on this holiday but he has a fairly good idea. He is also pretty sure that Sir Moran will not be informed of his presence in the manor, which makes him want to go all the more- because he's not supposed to be there.

Jim finishes the chicken strips after peeling the rest of the breading off, chewing at the straw of his milkshake, letting it dangle lazily between his lips.

"How are we getting there?"

\---

Sebastian finishes off his burger in another bite or two, chewing the last as he wipes his hands clean on a napkin or two in overly thorough fashion. He plucks up his tea as he answers simply.

"Car." But with the cup to his lips, he pauses. "It's just outside London. They always send a car."

He lowers the cup a little and gives half a grin. "We'll have to meet." But does Jim trust anyone with his address?

\---

Between the half melted ice and the milkshake, Jim is starting to get a throbbing headache as the cold trickles up the base of his skull. He removes the ice and sure enough, the side of his face is a brilliant purple already, his eye bloodshot by what little can be seen through the slitted eyelids.

"Name the place and I'll meet you there." No, he doesn't trust anyone with his address. No one has been there before and Sebastian is _definitely_ not going there. Jim has little in the way of pride anymore. But what he has, he holds onto fiercely.

\---

With debate, they choose one of Westminster’s libraries. Making Jim go all the way to Eton seems mildly unfair and if he has to guess, Jim lives somewhere around here.

He doesn't ask about Jim's family, what they might think of him running off for a week with a boy who doesn't even know his surname. Jim is out at all hours of the day and night and that's enough indication that there is little restraint- for one reason or another. But now he can see the purpling coloration blooming like a flower across the side of Jim's pale face and that spot in his chest flinches, just as his fingers do below the lip of plaster and tuft of gauze.

He wants to put his good fist through someone's skull but that’s not allowed. He sips his tea and lets the warmth soothe his urge for violence.

\---

Jim nods and makes a mental note of the time and place, which he'll remember because that’s what he does. It's not like he has a phone to keep in contact with anyways and even if, Sebastian would be the only person he'd have a number for. He probably wouldn't give his number to the blond anyways.

But he'll go away with him for a week.

The logic is flawed and skewed but yet again, it's Jim.

Abandoning the ice completely he goes back to the dregs of his milkshake, slurping the last remaining bit as he ponders what he'll have to pack. Probably nearly his whole wardrobe, which even then, isn't a whole week's rotation.

Once he's finished his shake, he's sucking the flavor off his teeth, tongue playing against the bottom of his top lip as he contemplates. Then finally, very bluntly, asks.

"Are you planning on fucking me?"

\---

Sipping tea, he almost chokes a laugh, pulling the cup away and using his bum hand to catch a drop that escapes at the corner of his smiling mouth. He sets the cup down and gestures both with surrender.

"You'll have your own room. I can't afford to have my other wrist out of commission."

He pauses and adds to that like an arrogant shite- because he is one. "Unless you want me to."

And it's half meant to be a joke but Jim doesn’t share his sense of humor, he's noticed.

\---

Jim- for the life of him- can't figure out why Sebastian even wants him there in the first place, if not for the obvious. So he shrugs. He's not going to complain about having a bed to himself, one that will probably fit three of him and another at the foot.

As Sebastian amends his statement, Jim studies him with a level eye, not taking it for the joke it's meant to be.

"We'll see."

It's all he says and then he's climbing to his feet to throw their garbage into the rubbish bin, tray and all. As an employee scolds him, he swivels that mottled face towards her and she gives an audible gasp before hurrying off to find a manager.

\---

He's impossible to understand and still Sebastian enjoys it utterly. That smile is back on his face and he's laughing lightly, shaking his head. There is no threat attached and that is a surprise.

"Come on, before they come back with pitchforks."

Lightly, he touches Jim's upper arm as he passes by him, leading out the door and still chuckling to himself over how easy it is for Jim to terrorize people. That shiner is unsightly and it brings violent impulses into his hands but it will steer most away and maybe that meant Jim would be left alone.

\---

Jim decides he likes it much better when Sebastian is smiling. There is something wrong with the world when he frowns and worries; that is what Jim is meant to do. Not Sebastian.

When he skims his fingers past Jim's arm, it's the first time the younger boy doesn't flinch and he follows after the blond without protest, shoving his hands down into the pockets of his denims. He's got no jumper to fend off the cold anymore, so he huddles close to Seb's side, using his broader body to block the chill of the wind. He doesn't know where they're going but for once, he's following.

He'll chalk it up to having one good eye if asked.

\---

They aren't really going anywhere. Sebastian just walks Westminster’s pavement without making a fuss about Jim being closer to him. He avoids Hyde Park and busiest streets and when people eye Jim funny, there's a look on both their faces that make them skitter away like the devil was staring right at them. One almost got hit by a car turning into the road so fast and Sebastian found this hilarious, that breathy chuckle he does so often.

He's horribly curious about just how smart Jim is because he knows it's there. More clever than any other, little flashes of which he's gotten a glimpse under the art of his many masks. Sebastian can’t recall every detail of what Jim said to the cabbie, it’s clouded by pain and drugs that evening, but he remembers his impression. The other boy is so good at hiding just how sharp he is and it works. People underestimate him and then they suffer for it.

But it's hard to ask him questions. What is allowed in conversation? They haven’t had much of it yet. Everything has the potential to make Jim distract and disappear into a crowd again. So Sebastian doesn't say much of anything. He just walks. At least if he's here, Jim is close enough to keep an eye on. Without running away, what can he observe about the little bird?

\---

Jim follows without question, simply because he's curious to see what Sebastian does. It quickly becomes apparent that the other boy has no plans and no idea of where to go. He's wandering aimlessly, apparently doing the same thing in trying to figure out more about Jim. That's....a little hard to accomplish because he's always locked down so tight.

Finally, Jim can't take it much longer and he turns into a chemist as they walk past, on the prowl for some pain killers. He's got no money but he isn't going to ask Seb for it, so he palms a box of paracetamol and heads back out the door and now it's Sebastian in tow.

He swallows a handful of pills dry and in time, the pain fades away to a dull buzz around his eye. Dusk starts to sink in they've been walking so long and Jim is sure Sebastian will leave soon. He has a warm dorm room to get back to after all.

Jim takes Sebastian's good hand in his and tugs him to the fire escape of a building, climbing to the top. It's not horribly tall, 7 or 8 stories. But some of the lights of London blot out and you can see the faint twinkle of the brightest stars come into view. Hopping onto the roof, Jim lays back and stares up at the sky, pointing out stars and bits of constellations as they start to glow in the sky overhead.

\---

Sebastian follows, no arguments or protests for stolen goods no matter how much was in his pocket. After all, he’s done it for kicks himself and Jim has to do things his way. Sebastian does his best to be the distraction instead and he’s rather good at that.

He trails after Jim but he is in such close step that if the other boy stops too abruptly, he’ll run right into him. He’s surprised when his hand is taken and Jim's fingertips are cold but his own are always warm and he tries to cover those slender digits up for however long they stay in his grasp. On the roof, he listens with intent and watches where Jim's hand points, repeating details quietly so he’s heard it right. And suddenly the universe gets larger and sitting in the center is a boy who adores the stars.

It starts to get colder once the sun is gone and Sebastian eventually peels off his jumper and drops it on Jim wordlessly. He's wearing a thermal that clings and that's fine enough, leaning back next to him so close their arms were surely touching. Once in awhile, between glittering formations found and named, he turns to watch the other gazing upward and it reminds him of that boy curled up and sleeping against his thigh.

\---

Sebastian's jumper is warm like his jacket, only this is better because it's warm after Sebastian has been wearing it. Jim tugs it down over his head without any hesitation, mussing up his hair and burrowing down into the soft wool with a satisfied sort of hum. He barely pauses in his lecture, still pointing up at the heavens and describing constellations and the mythologies behind them.

There's only so much you can see of the night sky from the center of London and eventually he trails off, turning his head to catch Sebastian staring at him instead of the stars. The shadows cast in the late evening make the dark bruise on his face near nonexistent, though they both know it’s still there. He stares at Seb in silence for a moment then reaches up with his pale, cold hands and feels the line of the blond's jaw, mapping it out by touch.

He's woefully unsure- a trait usually not displayed by Jim- as he tilts up and replaces his thumb with his lips; just the barest of touches to the softer skin beneath Sebastian's chin. It's not so much of a kiss, not really. Not when he murmurs, words pressed against the older boy's throat.

"You're going to miss your train."

\---

Sebastian holds perfectly still when he's touched, his eyes on the boy in the dark and that's all he sees; Jim. No ugly marks or glowing bruises or swelling disfigures. Just the boy he's utterly fascinated by. The alluring mystery.

He smiles a little but it's half hearted so it’s difficult to find amongst the shadows of his face. He doesn’t care for curfews or what sort of trouble it will cause. Not now.

"It's fine."

His fingers, between them somewhere, feel around gently in search of contact. He finds the bottom hem of the jumper and toys with it and even though it's his, now it's Jim's.

\---

It's not really fine but Jim is selfish so he stays right there, tucking himself up under Sebastian's chin like he belongs in that spot. His hands drag down to curl around the blond's shoulders and there they stay, gently kneading at the blended cotton of the thick thermal.

It's soft and sweet and it's certainly nothing like the Jim he usually encounters. But this Jim is pumped full of painkillers and the frantic maelstrom that rages within his mind has quieted to a dull roar. His whole head is stuffed with cotton but he'll always be able to name the stars; every ball of gas burned into his very being, as if that tiny body contains the entire galaxy compacted inside of it.

His lips continue to press against Sebastian's throat, just above the collar of his thermal. The pulse is life upon his mouth, a steady heart beat that echoes Sebastian's name with every inhale and exhale. It won't last, it never lasts. But right now Jim is calm and quiet, and the ugly world is below them on the ground.

\---

It's impossible. Completely and wholeheartedly impossible to understand but there's not enough room in his head to worry and fret over why because for every bit of Jim that could not be defined, neither could the way his own heart stutters. He isn’t stupid, not really. He could play the willful fool but it makes no bloody sense why he can't just stay away from something so obviously bad for his health. But he adores him. Fucking _adores._

And no matter how much, he barely moves because any moment it might be over. Softness is strange, sweet is ancient. He does not know them the same as he does lust and hurry. Sebastian wants so badly to touch him and he tries, reaching up to gently rest his hand on the body leaned so close to his. He breathes slowly and his eyes fall closed so that his senses punctuate that feeling of Jim's lips. The air that tumbles against his skin. The weight of him being so close.

He could stay there. He could stay all night and freeze and be content. It's frightening to think he wants that and there's a dull ache that reminds him that he might be insane to trust hands so close to his neck again. But there is Jim standing in the golden glow with his hands pressed to glass barriers. There is sleeping Jim and star Jim and there's panting, moaning, writhing Jim and he wants to know the other intimate parts beneath the masks and layers. His fingers flex and he dares to move his hand higher, touching deep brunet, sifting through silken strands of unruly darkness.

\---

The world has narrowed down to a roof top. Everything that matters has somehow become tangible beneath his hands. But even the hazy, weak opioid coursing through his body isn't going to make him admit that. Maybe he's already admitted it. Perhaps each brush of fingertips and drag of breath is uttering words in a language Jim has never spoken before. But Sebastian is supposed to be a master of languages so maybe he understands.

As the hands push their way up into his hair, Jim leans back slightly into the touch, greedy for it. His body remembers this touch, remembers everything that comes with it and it craves to have more of those hands everywhere. The softest sigh runs down the length of his small form and his whole body rolls forwards, plastering itself against the broader, thicker figure laying beside him.

There is no space between them any more, just the barrier of fabric, soft and malleable and yet still somehow a prison. It's too cold up here, far too cold to go without. Jim is collecting bits of Sebastian that the blond bestows upon him, little claims that silently show the world that he's trying, trying oh so hard to keep Jim for his own.

But Jim is too stubborn to play for keeps, even when he's arching into that touch like an attention starved cat.

\---

His fingertips are quickly growing cold away from the tuck inside fabric but he's careful that his touch only ever slips through Jim's hair and never leaves the bite of chill on his skin. His eyes are open again, head inclined and watching as Jim accepts his attention readily. There's no growling or fighting or pinning and even though that's wonderfully thrilling, this is... It's-

He doesn't have a word for it. He doesn't need words now anyway. Maybe this really is a language, one of those terms which simply has no likeness on another tongue.

Sebastian's mind goes quiet. With fingers gliding through Jim's hair, his useless wrist lays idle where the tips just barely meet some part of that slender frame and rest there contentedly. Time slips on and he has no idea where it goes or just how frantic the Dame has become when Moran doesn't return again. 9:30 is curfew. They're calling his father by now and Augustus Moran is furious. But Sebastian has no idea because his time has become Jim's and even the stars are captivated by him.

Everyone else is just too fucking stupid to see.

\---

Jim is so used to cold, yet Sebastian seems so intent to keep it away from him. And that is very counter productive to feeding his craving for more touches. Jim shifts a hand and catches Sebastian's good wrist, bringing it down to slip under the hem of the borrowed jumper.

The skin of his stomach was warm from being pressed between them and under the clothes so it jumps and shivers as the cool fingers slide across heated flesh. He gasps and buries his face up against Sebastian's neck again, pushing his nose into the tanned skin until it vibrates against his lips.

Jim is oblivious to the time, even if a flick to the sky would tell him just how late it is. He doesn't have anyone waiting, no family to fret over his loss, no staff of dames and prefects and house maids to worry when he didn't show up. All he has is Sebastian, though he isn't quite sure how he's suddenly snared someone so obviously beyond his status by being a complete dick to him for so long.

He doesn't understand it but right now isn't a time for puzzles. Dragging his lips across Sebastian's throat, Jim finds a soft spot where the taut muscle meets the vulnerable hollow of the trachea and he sucks, working a dark mark into the flesh that puts Jim there, under his skin again.

\---

With eyes shut Sebastian breathes control, slow and deliberate. The tilt of his head exposes his throat just a little more as Jim contents to press his mouth there, the warmth of tongue drastic to the thick chill settled around them. Now Sebastian’s fingers are under layers touching skin they'd met before and his heart gives a jolt as Jim tends the flesh of his throat, making him exhale sooner than his rhythm.

Even though it's a daring idea, that arm curls around Jim's body, unintentionally pulling layers upward as he presses the smaller figure closer and molds his palm to its contours.

\---

Jim's eyes flick up but at this angle he can't see much more than the chiseled jaw and the arch of a high cheekbone. There is the barest hint of stubble this late in the day, rasping across his tongue but even that is exciting, like a sharp bite against the tender buds.

As the arm traps him, there's a moment of hesitation where the instinct to flee flares up inside. But it's gone after a moment and Jim decides he doesn't mind being drawn closer. This isn't some hurried rush of writhing bodies just desperate to get off but perhaps Sebastian is holding back because he's hoping it comes to that.

Why else would he put up with all of it. He's waiting, waiting for Jim to invite him in because he just took last time and now he wants more. He's changing his tactics to get it. That must be it. Jim's figured it out but he's not sure if he cares because it feels, really, really nice.

\---

Cool fingers spread out on warmer skin, drawing along the curvature of Jim's form where bones make ridges and shallow dips, back down again in a patternless motion as if to commit it to memory by touch alone. He presses nothing else because it's enough and he's strangely calm, even with Jim nipping at his throat. Cold makes him drowsy and Sebastian might have fallen asleep if the weight against him didn't keep him grounded to the waking world.

He is no closer to figuring out this enigma and in fact, may be burying himself into it all the further because that is the only place to reach Jim. Not the vicious little bird threatening to peck your eyes out. Jim who tosses rocks at windows in the freezing cold and threatens someone just to find you.

\---

The stroking hands aren't demanding or urgent; they're just nice. It's in danger of lulling him to sleep- he hasn't had much this week because Sebastian wasn’t there to keep him warm and ward off the demons. Even now Jim is greedy, as it gets colder and colder and he's leeched all the heat that he can.

The older boy is out way past his curfew and it's Jim's fault for keeping him here. Jim has no idea what it will cost Sebastian but he deserves to be compensated for Jim's greed, doesn't he? He is horrified at the idea of bringing Sebastian to his home but it wouldn't be warm there anyway and London is full of motels that don't ask too many questions when you hand them a fist full of money. Sebastian is nearly, if not already eighteen anyways and he could get them a room easily.

Jim pushes back a bit, laving his tongue around the older boy's neck where he left a blemish in the shape of a little Irish mouth.

"Get us a room. Stay with me." It isn't so much a question as it is an order.

\---

Eyes open again and it's a little strange because it's pitch black for several seconds. The world needs to adjust, eyes drinking in the light of distant stars- Jim's stars- hundreds and thousands of years away. His obedience comes easily enough to cause envy in lifelong authority.

"Yes."

Staying out the night in full will set them into a right panic. Police will be contacted. They may consider he's dead given his mysterious injuries as of late- and wouldn’t that be a burden off Sir Moran’s shoulders at last? But Eton is soft and accommodating to his charms where his father isn't. They'll forgive him. Put his extra time on lockdown, making him write hexameters for hours thinking it punishment enough. He’ll write the old Georgics instead just for spite. He’s a decade late for a beating from the House Master but wouldn’t Sir Augustus find it distasteful to miss the opportunity. Holiday is merely a week away and he need only get that far in his sanity. The punishment shies beneath the crime.

None of that really matters now because Jim has told him what to do and he agreed without hesitation.

 

 


	7. Light Up the Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’ll make you whisper my name.
> 
> The story of Moriarty and Moran, from the very beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This will be updated every Saturday!**
> 
>  
> 
> A very NSFW chapter.
> 
> Thank you to [Hippano](http://hippano.tumblr.com/), as always~!

It's dark but maybe his face is so pale under the moonlight that his expression is visible. Jim smiles and it's not something that usually happens without mocking intent or another mask to get his way. He has gotten his way of course and for some reason Sebastian is so obsessed that it comes easily.

He pushes to his feet and flicks gravel off his fingers against the side of his jumper because they were laying on a fucking roof and it's really not all that comfortable. He looks up at the stars to pinpoint where they are- he's got all of London below him to see but it's the sky he trusts; He knows where to go after a moment of orientation. Jim climbs down the fire escape again and leaves Sebastian to follow because that's what he'll do. It hasn't hit midnight quite yet, it's not too late; Seb's old enough to drink, so two friends renting a room for the evening because one is too tipsy to make it home is a perfect cover. It's funny because _friends_ is a lie. Friends do not mutilate one another or break each other's wrist or hold you down in the dirt and writhe against you like a beast. No, they are not friends but they are _something_ and Jim's interested in finding out just what that is.

\---

Getting up and running a hand through fair blond, he breathes the heavy air in, a white cloud from scarred lips when he sighs. It takes a moment for his whole body to adjust to sitting up again and maybe it's also that he must grow accustomed once more to absence.

Sebastian does follow, trailing Jim closely and it takes him one step for every two of those smaller legs to keep up. He doesn't know where they are going exactly but that, he also doesn't care for. There is no account for Jim's intent, no one could know that with any certainty. Sebastian might bleed this night but he walks into it willingly.

\---

Jim leads Sebastian to a hotel that's just a step above seedy. It'll be cheap and it'll have a bed and heating- already that’s a luxury Jim isn't used to. That’s probably slumming it for Sebastian and it horrifies Jim to think of just what his own home would be to the blond, but he's never going to show Seb that if he can help it.

When he steps into the lobby, a stretch of the imagination for it to be called that, Jim asks for a room and the clerk is too busy to be bothered from his show. He just asks for 40 quid and slides a key over to them. Jim looks expectantly up at Sebastian then snatches the key when everything's been paid for.

He reads the room number and stalks off to find the matching door, passing several with peeling paint and fading numerals scratched into the wood. When he finds the room they've procured for the night, Jim unlocks the door and steps in, eyes darting around. It's not...bad. Just probably far beneath anything Seb is used to.

\---

Seb hands off money like it matters nothing and frankly, such a trivial amount doesn't. This isn't the sort of place he's ever found himself in, no. When Etonian boys get drunk on holiday and stay in hotels because they rebel against going home for the night, there are no less than three stars in the title and the place is trashed by morning. So without a doubt, they paid more on the way out.

This is the sort of place no one will come looking for him. He makes no complaint even though he would have lavished utterly onto Jim at the boy's allowance. The other boy would probably never let him do it and that's frustrating as much as it is intrigue. He keeps that to himself. Instead, Sebastian stalks after Jim like a tall shadow and wonders quietly to himself about the sort who linger in places like these; but he knows the answer because he's heard plenty of boys sneaking into such with people of paid persuasion and he’s a right snobbish prat but he can't help believing Jim deserves infinitely better.

The room is warmer than the rooftop and for as little as can be said for it, at least there’s that. It's small and they are alone in a place where no one can barge in to bother- and he isn't stupid. He knows what that means.

\--

Jim immediately goes over to the tiny little loo connected to the room and slams the door behind him, locking it and leaving Sebastian alone. It doesn't take long before the sounds of the creaking pipes fill the room and the shower is running on it's hottest setting, which isn't quite scalding but definitely burns the thin layer of frost off his skin.

Jim's in there for quite some time because the shower is hot and it melts him down to his very bones as he sits curling at the bottom of the tub. The heat helps his face and the swelling as much as another handful of paracetamol does, this time scarfed down with great swallows of steamy water that warm him through the inside out.

Finally, finally the door creaks open and Jim's just standing there wearing nothing but a faded pair of black boxers. His skin has a pink glow from the heat of the shower and his hair is still slightly damp, hopelessly mussed from scrubbing a thin towel over it. The swelling has gone down so now it's just a bruise. He can open his eye again and peer out over at Sebastian, now with two fathomless dark pools that betray nothing.

\---

Jim disappears just like that and Sebastian is perhaps too privileged to figure out that hot water is a luxury. He hears the pipes groan, the hiss of an old shower head and he tries not to imagine droplets rolling down pale skin. Water dipping into every crevice and contour, slicking smooth and pliant hips with trails of wet warmth which would make hands squeeze harder to keep hold of- but _fuck all_ if can actually stop himself.

Shaking his head like that would knock away his thoughts, Sebastian takes a deep breath and drops himself on the edge of the bed, facing towards the washroom door. A backlight of silver falls into the room from barely parted curtains of the only window and that’s all there is for lighting in here. He leaves the shoddy little lamp on the nightstand off. His head dips down and tongue slides over his lips and he listens as though he could hear Jim's thoughts if he tried hard enough. After a time, he finally takes off his boots and socks and sets them neatly by the corner foot of the bed just like he would in the dorm. Elbows prop up on his knees and his spine curves, yet he still manages to have proper posture because it's ground into his marrow like hooks keep his shoulders pinned back. The chill leaves his fingers and warmth is recharged in his body while he waits.

When Jim resurfaces, Sebastian lifts his head and does what he can to take air steady. Flowering purple consumes his pale skin on one side, almost blending like choice colors of a painting with the rosy flush of heat and he's even thinner than Sebastian's imagination, but he's still...

Sebastian waits a touch longer, blue catching dark depths that could swallow him up.

\---

Jim's body is not what anybody would call appealing. It's so pale that blue veins shine through the upper layer of dermis like a network of icy spider webs. Not even the rosy flush from the heated shower can chase those away, not completely. He's too skinny, as the world has already determined multiple times. His hip and collar bones are so prominent that the jut of them is nearly dangerous. Should he turn, every notch on his spine sticks out like a knob and a deep inhale of breath would bring every rib into focus. But he's not completely skin and bones, not yet.

Jim stands there for a few heart beats longer and if he's ashamed or worried about the state of his body, he doesn't show it. Jim's beyond the concept of beauty anyways; he knows how to look weak and harmless to get what he wants, playing up those waiflike brown eyes when he needs to. But there's none of that here, just a steady stare that tells Sebastian that he's showing him his investment is a poor one at best. Jim's not...pleasant, by any sense of the word.

But still he ends the contest of stares by moving over to the end of the bed where the blond sits and plopping right down unceremoniously into his lap, using the extra heft his chosen seating offers to bring them to eye level. He sits uninvited and stares over Sebastian, down to the dark mark above his collar and then back to blue eyes that are unfairly gorgeous.

\---

If you asked a few weeks ago what Sebastian found attractive, he'd have answered with an obvious statement about curvy women and toned men, grinning all the while. If you asked him now, there would be a moment of hesitation before his answer- and in that moment would flicker the thought, the idea, the image of James. He would smile small and genuine before the masked answer would reply; curvy women and toned men. Grins abound.

Jim is here now in his lap and he dares to lift a hand that touches along his lower back, as if waiting to secure him. But there's no grabbing, as much as he might desire to curl his arms around the small frame, you can not fairly contain a bird by trapping it and Jim is so much better when he's free of cage. He doesn't know what to say and so he doesn't.

\---

Jim doesn't know this. He doesn't know softness, doesn't know delicacy. He's not something fragile or precious and the look that radiates through Sebastian's face, like adoration, makes something sick churn in his stomach because he's not worthy of any of it. The way Sebastian is treating him now makes him twitch with discomfort and he wants to lock himself back in the loo where hot water is so much easier to deal with.

"I hate you." He whispers, even as he's sitting perched on the older boy's lap.

Because he feels like he's flayed and Sebastian's just _sitting there_ , holding the whip. And he doesn't- he doesn't hate and that scares him down to the very core but Jim's always been made of lies, so his hand comes up suddenly and slaps Sebastian across the face, a dull sting throbbing through his fingers and palm with the force of it.

\---

Sebastian doesn't understand where it comes from and his brow furrows as if his sluggish brain tries bounding after Jim's to make sense of things. But he'll never catch up. The slap strikes him and his head jerks and something inside of Sebastian's chest flutters so obscenely, like someone tossing a rock into a crowd of birds. He laughs softly even when he shouldn't because it bubbles up out of him just so easily.

Then his hands hold Jim, wrap around him securely and only as long as it takes for Sebastian to fall back against the spring bed, taking Jim down on top of him. Blond goes awry on off colored sheets and he lets go, though fingers linger on the skin like they can't help it. He breathes an answer and it escapes through a smile.

"I don't."

\---

As Sebastian's hands tighten around him and pull him down, Jim hisses and brings his own up to scratch like a cat dunked in water. He writhes on top of Sebastian like he's being burned, knobby knees and elbows jamming up against the older boy in what must be painful blows.

The words take longer than they should to penetrate his awareness and when they do, he stretches up and grabs one of the pillows, slamming it down over Sebastian's face and pushing it over his nose and mouth. He's straddles Sebastian's waist now, his narrow arms shaking as he holds the cushion over the other boy's face, willing him to suffocate and stop saying things like that because Jim hates that too.

\---

But Sebastian is laughing again, not in mock or sinister intent, but freely. He cringes and his breaths hitch around sounds when he's jabbed and jolted in the ruckus but there is no fight.

Fabric tries to muffle him and it works to dull the noise but not the effort that shakes his whole muscled torso. The good hand moves to Jim's chest and there is no shirt to grab so it rests, hardly pressing against the warm sternum while his bad left falls to a pale thigh worthlessly. Sebastian laughs until there's no more air left and things become a bright haze fluttering behind shut eyelids; his lungs screech because he so carelessly gave away what little there was. The laughter dulls into muted gasps and fingers clench slightly but the arm starts to lose strength until it slips, falling between them.

\---

Even though he shakes and shifts beneath him, it's not enough to dislodge Jim. Thighs squeeze around Sebastian's hips, keeping him in place, balancing his small body as his hands continue to smother the pillow to the older boy's face. Sebastian's strong hand touches his chest and the spread fingers nearly cover the whole width of it, cradling his ribcage and the heart that stutters below.

He pushes and watches as the fight that was never _really_ a battle drains out of Sebastian along with his air. And Jim could kill him, could really kill him and take his money and leave him here. It'd take so long to find him and they'd have a funeral that Jim would never be invited to. And Jim still doesn't move, picturing the whole thing as the hand falls slack from his chest and the torso beneath him stops heaving.

Sebastian would just let it happen.

Jim peels the pillow away finally and looks down at the hazy eyes and gasping mouth, and it must hurt to draw in breath now but he folds over and crushes his lips against Sebastian’s because he hates him. And because he doesn't.

\---

A split moment of panic tells him he could die. There's an instinct that tries so very hard to kick in but Sebastian is stronger than his impulses, even when he so intentionally gives into them. He doesn't fight, he falls and things are getting bleary and muted.

_Salvation._

The face of a prince peering down at him, even when that prince _who hates his kingdom_ is the one that held him by the throat above death's swing. His lungs gasp desperately for air but the smile is still in his eyes and then his precious, needed oxygen gets stolen away again by Jim's greedy mouth. He’s exhausted his willpower against impulses and his good hand reaches up, slipping affectionately into Jim's hair, encouraging of his own suffocation. He's hungry for it because Sebastian is selfish too and he doesn't hate him- he absolutely doesn't.

\---

Jim doesn't fight the hand, not now when it sinks into his damp hair and cradles his skull. Death always hovers close whenever Jim is involved but they've escaped its clutches for now, and though it will wait and wait and watch them forever, the moment is their own again.

His thighs still squeeze around Sebastian's hips, keeping him from completely collapsing forwards while his back arches in an almost painful hunch, hovering over the blond, feeding at his mouth as if salvation is buried inside underneath lips and teeth and tongue. Its not all violence this time but it's not sweet and soft either. There is purpose beneath this kiss and with each shift of his mouth, he's peeling away another layer of Sebastian. He doesn't want that sweet touch and that simpering stare of adoration. He just wants raw and base because he knows those things and they don't scare him nearly as much.

\---

There's no growling or pulling away, not a knee or an elbow jammed into his ribs. Sebastian’s half useless hand draws fingertips over the smooth skin, skirting near the edge of worn out black. His mouth is as eager as the rest of him quickly becomes, stealing dire breaths between every slip of space between their lips. Tasting and restless and yet dominated by Jim's fervor, it burns away the last of calm for smoldering heat. His chest aches wonderfully where his heart is pounding in fury, unable to tell the difference between danger and desire and that's just it, isn't it? Jim.

Seb is so very dressed and Jim is so rather not and that leaves him so much to touch. Wet fingers drag out of damp hair and slide along Jim's face and jaw, his thumb rough and affectionate in brushing his cheek; Jim is supple and sharp and Sebastian is calloused and rounded. He is livid and Sebastian is joyous. He is demanding and Sebastian obliges, because they are both defiant of nature and spiteful of rules.

\---

More points of his body are burning beneath Sebastian's touch, his thigh is a firework of warmth curling beneath five lazy digits. Slick moisture slides down his cheek as the other fingers glide along the angular jut of his jaw. Sebastian's still not touching enough but it's better- it's better because that stutter in his heart is being pushed away as a spark of lust fissions through him.

A shift of his slight weight sets him to straddle Sebastian's muscled thigh instead and one of those knobby knees is nestling up close and tight to the juncture of the older boy's denims, rubbing the rough seam between his legs every time Jim levers forwards. He grabs for the hem of Sebastian's thermal and pushes it up with impatient groans and grunts between snappish kisses, fingers scrabbling along the material to peel it from the the blond's prone form.

\---

Sebastian gasps into their kiss as Jim's knee presses close and his lungs so desperately need the air that it burns when they fill. Shock thunders beneath rough fabric every time Jim’s weight starts to incline forward- and it's often because Sebastian's hand is greedy and it coaxes Jim in as close as possible.

Seb arches his back to accommodate the pull of fabric which clings nicely, as if he could do with going up a size after filling out that toned muscle beneath. But striped and spattered on freshly exposed tan are old, fading bruises turned yellow and soft browns. Their memory fades so easily under impatient touches trying to undress him.

\---

Those gasps have Jim laughing breathlessly into the kiss because Sebastian is desperate and no one has ever been desperate for Jim, not his touches or his presence. He pulls back from the kiss that's broken a smile over his face and its not quite happy but it might possibly be on it's way there, even if he won't admit to it. He looks down to finish pushing the shirt up...

And he stops. He stops and he stares, looking down at the network of bruises that are fading but still so clear to Jim's critical stare. The laughing stops, the smile stops. Jim hasn't left those marks and their shapes and patterns aren't from rugby. Too long, too thin. Too intentional. Jim knows contusions, he's suffered plenty of them. And now that man is dead.

His hand drops from the hem of the thermal, snatching back as if the fabric suddenly caught aflame. Ice cold rushes through his veins and takes him back towards a place that's been steps behind him for a while now. And suddenly it's fresh again.

\---

Lovely, it's lovely. Even if the sound should unnerve any other bastard out in the world, Jim's breathless laughs are music to Sebastian and he adores them. He's compliant to help get the shirt up, staying arched off the bed even when it aches in the muscles. The kiss is escaped and not without a fight but it's worth blue opening to see that smile, even for the too brief moment that it lasts.

And it's gone so quickly that it startles Sebastian, his back flattening as if the energy washed out of him. Jim snaps back and Sebastian exhales like he's been hit. He doesn’t have control of his face, so it twists with confusion as his torso rises and falls heavily, flexing the muscles beneath those discolorations splotched across his skin.

"Jim?"

\---

It's too much. It's too much and it's gotten too close and Jim has lost control of so many layers before he even realized it. He's still so young and it's hard to keep himself from caring and feeling because he wants to, he so desperately wants to with every bit of his little heart. This is a battle that heart has been losing for a long time, taken over by the cold, hard logic of his mind.

The sound of his name snaps his attention back up to Sebastian's face instead and he waivers for a moment, recomposing himself. They don't use each other's names often and Sebastian barely knows his. Jim's bottom lip is trapped between his teeth and his gaze drops back down slowly, fingers tracing over the edges of bruises and then pressing his thumb down into the centers because he's a fucking sadist.

Dark eyes flick back up with a questioning furrow of his brow; someone else besides Jim is breaking Sebastian and he doesn't like that.

\---

He can't read Jim. A little glass shelter is broken and he's reminded of that; he can't and he may never be able to, no matter how touches and a kiss could trick you into thinking you’re certain of what’s going on.

Sebastian flinches and already heavy airflow stutters when his skin is pressed. His lashes flutter and lids become heavy but he does not break away from watching Jim's expression. He doesn't hate it, not when it's Jim. His fingers don't curl into fists and rage doesn't boil like a knot of burning metal in his throat. His arm is outstretched and his fingers are slipping, just beneath the fresh bruise that consumes the space around one dark eye; once upon a time the bruises beneath Jim’s fingertips were just as vibrant. Sebastian’s hand traces, down somewhere between Jim's slender neck and protruding collarbone.

\---

His focus has narrowed down to Sebastian's face and the gears in his head spin and churn so fast he's sure they would audibly creak if they weren't so well oiled. He's not stupid, not at all. Sebastian's contempt in earlier conversations make it obvious where the bruises come from. Jim will take care of it. He has a week away with Sebastian and he'll fix it.

Yet he says nothing and abruptly pushes at Sebastian's shirt again, peeling the material up. It forces the hand on his clavicle up and away but it can always come back once he's made short work of the offending bit of clothing.

Beyond the bruises, Sebastian is a sculpted marble statue of perfection and Jim doesn't understand why those hands are reaching for him of all people. But he thinks he's simply given up trying to understand it and he rocks his knee up in between Sebastian's thighs again as he bends down and bites the older boy's exposed collarbone.

\---

Perhaps it is fresh denial that he does not understand how quickly that clever bird has worked out the answer. Whatever came between them seems to pass and whatever transpires in Jim's quiet machine goes unspoken. His hands are on the move and Sebastian is tumbled back so easily into the lull of Jim's touch, as if an interruption never happened. With the thermal discarded, his hands do return like greedy hunters but they go where they please, reaching out with battered left to draw thumb over ridges of his ribcage, the good set drawing down to a slender hip and hooking on black fabric where he kneads gently. A soft groan is so near Jim's ear when the knee teases and the bite stings so wonderfully

\---

Sebastian is indeed greedy. Greedy enough to try and feel with a hand that’s numb and broken, like all those bones and ribs are worth attention. The older boy seems to like the jut of his hip, which is fine because Jim has decided he likes being touched there. Sebastian could probably snap the bone with a hard enough push of his good hand, but he won't- not yet anyway. He's not as vicious as Jim.

Jim's own hand moves down to the fly of Sebastian's denims and with sloppy skill, he's flicking the buttons open and tugging down the zip but that's as far as he bothers before his plunges a hand down inside. Fingers wriggle under the elastic waistband of the pants and stroke thin digits against the swell of hot, velvety flesh beneath. His teeth don't relent, rather they grind, worrying the skin till it breaks and there Jim is again, pushing himself into Sebastian with a series of painful injections.

\---

 _Oh_ how he squirms and moans beneath Jim's touch, a heel burying into the edge of the bed where his only leverage is gained, pressing him up into those spidery fingers which care not for how little room is available. Teeth breaking skin make him gasp and fingers dive under thin fabric, drawing short nails across the curvature of a cute little arse usually hidden beneath clothing too loose on Jim’s body. But it's one more thing he gets that no one else does and Sebastian is a selfish fuck with the thought of it.

He hates that sensation is dulled and movement is limited in the other hand, half obscured palm beneath plaster and gauze layers. So he sets the hand on the hip unattended and his fingers squeeze there too with what little grip he has.

\---

Making Sebastian moan quite possibly may be one of the few achievements in life he's proud of, one that brings a smug smile of satisfaction to Jim's lips. Its not exactly that it's difficult, he's barely touched anything and Sebastian's already unraveling. But its something that he's done all on his own, just by being Jim. The worries from before are long gone as he lifts his hips and pushes back into the cheeky hand curled around his arse. Its probably one of the few spots on his body that isn't skin and bones but its not exactly plush. But he doesn't begrudge the touch, not when his fingers are wriggling down into tight confines and probably scraping nails over sensitive skin better left for a delicate treatment. Jim is too impatient to wait for the time it would take to shimmy out of the denims. That laugh comes back, high pitched and breathy as his fingers curl around his prize. Like with everything else, Sebastian is a good deal bigger than Jim and that is fucking scary.

Good thing he is fearless.

\---

He could practically choke on air, his breathing gets so scrambled trying to respond to the untender delegations but it's good, _so bloody good_ because Jim laughs and his body shifts and those small, deadly little hands are on him- no one else. There's not enough room in those jeans for his cock and Jim but that's probably the fucking point because Jim is in control and it's one more thing to make him crazy.

He leaves little red streaks in the wake of his fingers but palm slides down again further, till the tips meet the back of Jim’s thigh and he's dragging another set of marks over the skin. He wants Jim's mouth but he claims no authority, licking his lips and using that stupid limb to hook a thumb on elastic, giving pants a little push to expose the dip beneath the hipbone. How badly he wants to see but limbs are in the way and it's utterly unfair.

\---

How easily Sebastian could take control even with one hand, over powering Jim is hardly a challenge. He could push him over and take exactly what he wants but he doesn't- he lets Jim be the boss here. Jim makes a whine low in his throat as nails rake over his skin and the sound tapers off when he muffles himself by biting again at the raised clavicle. As the pants are dragged lower, the trail of sparse, black curls on his flat abdomen are exposed but it's still hidden by the angle of his body and the way he has Sebastian pushed back on the mattress.

Jim's wrist moves with an aborted gesture, barely able to do much more then squeeze and press fingertips into tender flesh, skimming over the same strip without giving any real pleasure. There's a promise of it but Sebastian's jeans aren't as roomy as Jim's. He's waiting, teasing, seeing how long it takes Sebastian to snap and finally rip the clothing out of the way. Jim's lazy and he's already taken off one article, the rest are up to the older boy.

\---

And taking clothes off is still something he can do even with a little finesse needed. So when he can't stand the restriction of Jim's movement and the rub of sensitivity against fabrickeeping him contained, he proves the guess right that he isn't as helpless as he lets himself be under Jim's rule.

Right pulls loose of elastic band which snaps softly on Jim's skin while he pushes down with his heel to lift his own hips higher. He's pressing up into the smaller frame and it brushes groin against one slender thigh between his legs, grunting breathlessly as he stems elbows into the bed to hold so much of his weight. Thumbs hook on two layers and shove them down over hand and hard on. Its not fucking pleasant but he doesn't give a damn and he suffers for it quietly when his wrist throbs from the flexing of tendons.

Seb collapses flat to the mattress and he gives a breathless noise of discomfort as his plastered wrist stills on the cheap duvet. The other hand returns to it’s new favorite location.

\---

Jim actually gives an undignified squeak at the snap of the waistband and the sudden shift of his center of gravity as Sebastian levers him up to work his way out of his denims. He scrambles for purchase and slides onto the mattress, kneeling beside the blond as he works the clothing down and out of the way. Jim watches with slowly widening eyes as Sebastian's erection is freed, almost comically so, swaying a bit before settling in a curve up towards a swatch of darker blond.

Jim bites his lip, his gaze going darker with lust because right now, this is his and he's the one who put Sebastian in such a state. As the press of fingers returns to his hip, Jim looks up to Sebastian's face and for a split second, its pure innocence. This is unknown territory- Jim doesn't do this, doesn't do people in general. But the expression is gone almost as it's formed and he rocks forwards on his hands and knees, returning one hand to curl around the base of Sebastian's cock. This time he gives a proper stroke upwards, dragging his fingers with light pressure up to the foreskin with a look of utter fascination.

\---

That flicker of a look will haunt him and so will the view of Jim's unabashed enthusiasm; air hitches as fingers curl around and stride upward a length that’s at its prime. Yes, he's bloody smug about having a big cock. But now isn’t the time, not in Jim's little hands. He moves his only useful set of fingers to shimmy under the strip of material keeping Jim hidden from him, giving a little tug. _Bloody hell_ \- he just wants to watch but he's not even fully on the bed, the pillows are away from him and all he has left is sitting on elbows which won't allow him to touch any part of the other boy.

And fuck all if he doesn't relinquish that for a show. His hand slips to the covers and he stems both joints into the mattress to incline his upper torso so that he might view Jim in all his lustful glory.

\---

Jim's eyebrow raises as he feels the tug but he doesn't do anything about it. He's not worried about himself right now, he's aroused yes but not nearly as much as Sebastian is. He's still frustratingly covered and with Sebastian trapped under his own weight and a bum hand, he's forced to suffer with the little bit Jim gives him.

Jim's doing all of this on purpose of course, because he loves antagonizing the other boy, even when he's also lavishing him with attention in the form of a small hand. Deft fingers that are perfectly at home on piano keys- if perhaps slightly out of practice- skim up towards the sensitive glans and roll the foreskin back, shifting his wrist so the digits can press against the slit and rub downwards. There's no really finesse to it, Jim is exploring and listening to Sebastian's reactions, judging what he likes and then repeating those motions.

Occasionally his gaze darts back to Sebastian's face, to see his reactions there as well. He may be inexperienced but he knows what feels good, he's got a cock of his own between his legs and he doesn't completely ignore it. He’s not trying to do anything stupid like look sexy and shoot Sebastian bedroom eyes, he's just Jim, learning the older boy's body with every pass of his fingertips.

\---

There's little more frustrating than a boy or a bitch trying to posture, bat lash and look appealing when all you want is for them to fucking get to it. But Jim is genuine in his exploration, unhindered by shyness that would keep his touch too light or every movement hesitant. Sebastian is not accustomed to being idle at a time like this, it's hard to be still and yet under Jim’s mercy is a delightful place.

When it's nice his eyes are pinned on Jim half lidded with pleasure; when it's good, his breath hitches and goes awry. When it's great he's biting his lip, shuddering, squirming and everything comes with it's own sounds. A rush of air, a soft groan in the back if his throat, a lustful, breathless moan when he can't help rocking hips into the touch. Fingers curl against the covers and gather in his palms uselessly.

\---

Jim's cataloging all those sounds and shifts of the body beneath him, which is enough to distract him from the fact those warm hands have abandoned him. It's not a horrible loss, Sebastian is occupied at the moment, at mercy indeed because Jim is relentless in his pursuit of information. He learns exactly what makes the blond's body sing, where he's most sensitive and what deft motions make him squirm helplessly.

He's worked Sebastian up tighter than a wound coil but soon his skinny arm aches with supporting his weight and he collapses down to the bed with a whoosh of air leaving his lungs. He rolls onto his back and huffs at the mild ache in his wrist; little bird bones can't keep him aloft for as long as he wants.

\---

It's a loss he suffers and a whine bites back into a soft groan that muffles against the lip he chews upon. Sebastian finally let's his head fall and his neck burns in muscle ache. Slowly elbows ooze down and flatten him, a moments rest as he breathes to calm the erratic heart and roiling blood but there is no ease for how desperately he wants Jim not to be so far away.

After a moment, it's Sebastian who moves because his legs are already hanging half off the bed and all it takes is that one good arm to reach above his head and push. He slides right off the edge, knees hitting the threadbare carpet and catching an arm on the lip of the mattress where he leans his weight, turning towards the bulk of the bed to eye Jim like a stalking cat. Reaching out with both hands, he proves his strength even half crippled when he slips a grip under each of those knobby knees and pulls the other boy's entire body closer, the covers disarranged in the process of all the sliding atop them. Jim's slender legs are hooked over Sebastian's broad shoulders and it's all very unceremonious but he gets what he wants- Jim willing. Sebastian tilts his cheek to press against a milky thigh, sighing softly.

\---

Jim's rubbing his wrist with a scowl when Sebastian starts his round of lazy antics. He turns his head to catch the movement as Seb slides off the bed entirely. Jim blinks, wondering if stopping has upset the blond; it's not like he was done completely, just taking a moment to adjust himself. But that's not the case, not when strong hands grab ahold of his legs and drag him down across the mattress, rucking the duvet downwards to bunch up under Jim's head.

He's surprised again and another one of those breathy squeaks escape, much to his chagrin. His calves hit Seb's back and his toes flex when the older boy's scruffy cheek rasps against the inside of his soft thigh. Every exhale of breath bathes against the tender skin, making him squirm as goosebumps raise in the wake of that overly warm air. Jim doesn't stare, in fact he's practically paralyzed against the mattress because this is new but it's not bad and he allows it to happen, sighing out into the air above him.

\---

Lucky that the bed is low unlike the upper hotels and old money homes, as if height equated to quality or spoke of nobility. Lucky too that he's so tall. The carpet is worn but it's padding enough for calloused knees. And none of that matters to the point because he would have found a way to get what he wanted.

The point being his lips teasing Jim's thigh as he tilts into the press of his cheek. Fingers slide up each outer leg, snaking under the black fabric hems as if to tell the material it was nothing to stop him. He nips a little higher on Jim's inner thigh, drags his fingers back down towards the younger boy's knees and the plaster is rougher than fingertips when it grazes but it's not sandpaper.

Parting scarred lips, a slip of tongue steals a taste of skin and he listens to the breath and body to know Jim approves because his eyes are closed. Hands dive under fabric again, teasingly clawing up to hips and elastic band as he tilts head to greet the opposite thigh as well.

\---

As the fingers join in and trace up the fine hairs on the skin of his thighs, Jim tenses up and wriggles again. It's not from any aversion to the touch but rather because that's a bit ticklish. His knees squeeze a bit around Sebastian's neck and Jim must have some fetish for asphyxiation because he thinks about how easy it would be to clap down and start to strangulate the other boy in this position. Which is morbid, yes but good because it's leverage if Jim doesn't like where this is going.

When the wet, warm tongue slicks up his inner thigh, he grunts and arches a bit, the thin cotton of his boxers not any sort of barrier to the advancement of Sebastian's greedy fingertips. But he's trapped himself because Jim's pants really aren't going anywhere with a big blond head in the way.

It seems he remembers his hands suddenly because he reaches down and grabs Sebastian's hair, tugging it back a bit so he can look at the older boy's face. A moment passes and impatient as ever, Jim shifts and lifts his hips off the bed.

"Off," And he means the boxers and not Sebastian and if the blond doesn't realize that than he really is an idiot.

\---

A flimsy pair of pants were the least of Sebastian's concerns but he neither has argument for their removal. All the better. When Jim demands it, a grin stretches his face and it takes less than a second of quick gesture for him to get his fingers around the waistband. He leans back and peels them down Jim's legs, shrugging the limbs off his shoulders only for the sake of pulling the little burden off entirely and letting his poor wrist drop them wayside.

And now Jim is whole, a complete image that becomes burned in his mind just like this; A prince elevated, Sebastian at his beckon.

Bloody saints... he's lovely and anyone who tried to tell him otherwise would lose their teeth. Open mouthed, he exhales and lets his eyes trail upward from thighs to hips to torso and those dark, dangerous eyes watching him.

\---

Jim doesn't like scrutiny. He hates it. Hates being the focus of anyone's attention because it had never, ever lead to anything good, even though it's something he craves. One day it will change, but right now, he's young and he's poor and the world hasn't learned to bow to him yet. But that fascination in Sebastian's stare as it drags up over him makes him swallow thickly with the weight of its intensity.

He ratchets himself onto his forearms and returns Sebastian's stare from his awkward position, raising an eyebrow towards his messy hairline. Staring sure isn't doing the job and his cock twitches impatient and pink from where it rests heavy against his inner thigh. One hand lifts and he gestures to his lap, indicating for Sebastian to get on with it- whatever he's going to do.

\---

Jim's little gesture makes the grin lingering in the corner of his lips return. Sebastian has a problem he openly admits to and that’s staring at Jim. He breathes a little laugh for impatience and it's with no more delay he turns his head and bites at Jim's thigh, roughly affectionate in leaving a little mark of red there.

Good hand quick to move, it touches the opposite and slides inward so calloused fingers can curl around Jim's cock and work a stroke that starts gentle. But it's obvious that's not his real intention because once he's left discolored red on supple flesh and slid his tongue over the heated little spot, his mouth changes targets. He starts slow, first with lips which work their way up, then tongue and hand get involved together and he's teasing before he ever slips the foreskin back.

\---

At the sudden bite, Jim jerks and gasps, which drags the teeth harder against his inner thigh. He tugs a warning in Sebastian's hair, like he hasn't already bitten the older boy and left his own mark. But there's no real heat to it, especially when Sebastian finally takes him in hand. The pressure and friction send a fisson of bliss up his spine and Jim just fucking sighs.

There's a still calm that slips over his body for a brief moment and he allows the sensation overtake him when he's normally so closed off from the world. His fingers go loose and just twitch against Sebastian's hair. When that damp tongue makes its way towards his cock to join the hand, Jim moans and arches towards the touch. It's not something that would have ever passed his mind because it's too submissive, Jim doesn't kneel for anyone.

But it's more than alright for Sebastian and he isn’t complaining. He's humming and licking his bottom lip because it's gone dry, small hips rocking towards the older boy that he's abused for weeks now and still somehow sticks around.

\---

Sebastian is above little and maybe that's a testament to something very different in their backgrounds; the man who need not beg, doth worship. He was willing to give just as often as he took but most of the time, he was on the pedestal. This is different. Jim is his shrine to which he falls to his knees. It's utterly enjoyable just to hear the sounds the other boy makes, how he squirms adorably and his fingers linger in Sebastian's hair, recounting his enjoyment. He's rolling his tongue along the tip, nipping gently at tender skin, trailing wetness over length for his digits to catch and spread.

Idle left sidles up to the edge of the bed where it rests near those favored hips again, then he's pressing his fingers against the supple curvature of thigh. Lips envelop Jim in wet warmth and it's almost like he left the hand nearby to catch the reaction of the body.

\---

The nips and licks were nothing, _nothing_ compared to the feel of Sebastian finally sinking his mouth around all that sensitive skin. It's like a live wire sparks in his core and he jolts and whines and writhes, his unoccupied hand tangling in the sheets and his hips rocking forwards, roughly thrusting himself into the blond's mouth.

Jim's poison and lightning all at once, he strikes fast and deadly but this has him shaking and giving aborted twitches of his narrow waist as he keens. His thoughts aren't on choking Sebastian (for once) but he probably does it anyways without intending. His fingers can't decide to push or pull so they just tug. Jim's not sweet and gentle, not while he's awake- and he doesn't apologize either.

\---

Most people would try not to choke someone, especially someone with your dick in their mouth, but it's Jim and he is not most people. Thrilling as much as it is dangerous. Sebastian is as careful as he can be trying not to choke wretchedly on the abrupt movement of hips that arch and buck, but he's damn near hitting the back if his throat and fucking hell, even a trained gag reflex is defensive.

Yet he doesn't stop, digging his desensitized fingers into Jim's hip while the other follows the stroke of his mouth sliding up and down; or maybe it's really Jim who is moving and Seb is perfectly still. So he's sucking Jim off and his hair is being pulled, the sounds Jim makes are symphonic and he's _aching_ \- it's more than a smolder, it's a fucking wild fire in his body and it consumes his nerves and flesh and bones. They scream for Jim. But he's on a task and Sebastian finishes what he starts, participants willing.

\---

The sensations don't lessen, not at all but Jim adjusts to the over sensitivity or he just fucking learns to calm down and take a breath so he's not quite trying to choke Sebastian any more. He sinks bonelessly down to the mattress and instead just rolls his hips gently, rocking into the blond's mouth only on the edge of a suckle until he's created a rhythm that matches the older boy's attentive pull of tongue and lips.

Every exhale has become a moan, small chest heaving as his lungs struggle to keep up. A flush spreads it's way through his body and his damp hair is now stuck to his forehead with sweat. He's not going to last long and that should be embarrassing, but Jim's never had a mouth on him before and Sebastian is so eager to take all of his firsts. The fingers in blond strands twirl around and tug weakly but Jim's not really in control anymore. Sebastian's breaking him apart with flicks of his tongue and the persistent press of a hand that can't really feel anything but tries so desperately anyways.

\---

The tug of his hair makes Sebastian groan softly and it vibrates through muscles and the active warmth all around the soft flesh he tends. He doesn't keep rhythm forever, toying with the effects of changed pace and new sensations with the squeeze of fingers or a different stroke of tongue in the tight confines of his mouth. Sometimes he leaves Jim briefly to the cooler reality of the room and the sound his mouth makes is so obscene as he pulls free from deep suction- but the abandonment is always so brief and his hand always makes a promise that it will be. All for the sake of shocking the nerves when he returns diligently.

And he knows Jim is slipping because his body language changes and his sounds fall unrestrained from cute lips and it is _so_ fucking satisfying.

\---

His elevated legs start to feel numb in the best sort of way and all the blood in his body has been steadily rushing to his cock. It leaves him a bit light headed and he can feel that edge of blankness begin to tinge his thoughts as his body hurries towards his climax. When Sebastian leaves him for even a second, its a white hot poker driven into his center and he wails out his protests, tugging till he gets that attentive mouth back around him. It'd be so cruel to stop now and Jim is no stranger to cruelty but not from Sebastian. Not now.

There's no warning beyond the sudden tensing and shake of his body before he comes. Jim is too wrecked to manage one and he probably wouldn't have anyways. He arches up off the mattress as he spills into the warm, wet cavern of the blond boy’s mouth, a stuttered attempt of Sebastian's name dying on his lips because that's sentiment and that's too much, especially for Jim. He sinks down to the bed again, panting and starry eyed, staring blankly at the ceiling as his hand drops from Sebastian's hair. He's not there, not anywhere for a few minutes. And its so good.

\---

He doesn't need a warning because he knows the mechanical body- knows the pulse, the tension- and that's enough. Sebastian doesn't make the pull back to catch in hand or spit saliva and come elsewhere as if it has no place being on him. Lips press around the crown until the wave has passed and Jim's cock is twitching in aftermath; then it's a slow and careful release because he knows how sensitive the body is in that moment and he isn't going to overload that adorable bastard anymore than he just did. But bloody fucking hell he is so very pleased with himself that wet lips curl into a satisfied smile.

It’s on his tongue, Jim is, and Sebastian is fucking obscene so he swallows it unquestioningly. He licks remnants of taste from the corner of his mouth and gently moves his hand, slipping around a pale knee to set on the bed beside Jim’s limp thigh while tilting his head to press the stupidest little kiss of quiet adoration on the opposite knee. Amusement glitters in his eyes like wetness from nearly choking, scanning upwards over the body and he so wishes he could see Jim's face, but he doesn't move because illusions end when you ripple the water.

\---

Jim doesn't know bliss. It's not something he can experience in his world. His mind can not even slip that far when the oxytocin is rushing through his brain. But its close, so very close, and Sebastian's so sweet afterwards with his touches and kisses that it makes Jim want to scream but he can't. He can't do a damned thing but lay there panting as he slowly comes back to the earth and he hates that he has to but the tender kiss that still echoes against his knee somehow makes it tolerable.

Jim is very glad Sebastian can't see his face at this angle because he's flushed beet red, all the way down to his cock that now lays hot and wet and soft against the crease of his leg. He sighs into the air, breathy and gentle and he doesn't have it in him to be mean. He wills his fingers to slide back up to the older boy's hair where they twitch and hesitate but then he pats the top of blond in an aborted, awkward gesture like Sebastian is some fucking house cat.

\---

He's watching again because that's what he does in the quiet. Watching the body language, the rise and fall of chest and even if he can't see Jim's face from this angle, he has enough height to see lips, chin and jawline. Jim isn't agitated so Sebastian is content. The pat on his head makes him breathe a little laugh against Jim's knee, which his lips and cheek are still pressed to even though it would take Jim all of a second to smash it right into his goddamn mouth- but everything about Jim is a risk and that delights him.

But he hasn't forgotten. Of course not- _impossible_. With the calm settling and the distraction passed, the tense heat in his own body returns to focus. Sebastian sighs heavily, that attempt to keep control. His head turns a bit and now it's his temple on Jim's knee when he licks his lips. And why he hasn't just reached down and fucking dealt with it is a mystery to all but he hasn't yet and fingers twitch like they are thinking about it because he is.

Finally his poor hand comes up to the one in his hair and best he can, because it's all his elbow and shoulder bending, he sets his fingers on Jim's and encourages him to tighten the curl of those long digits. The functioning right drags off the mattress and dips between his thighs for a firm grip on his own cock and this is so fucking familiar, thinking of Jim. Except now he doesn't have to close his eyes to see him.

\---

There is no denying Jim is selfish, the warmth and comfort of post coital would easily lull him to sleep if he weren't ratcheted up at an awkward angle around Sebastian's shoulders like an overgrown necklace. And Sebastian seems to know that Jim's patience is a waning thing, so all he asks for is that grip in his hair which Jim obliges.

There's a fizzling spark in him that's angry he doesn't get to watch, even if by all accounts he could just sit up and get a good view. But he's lazy in the aftermath of his own orgasm, so he just tangles his fingers tighter in Sebastian's hair, enough to slowly tug his head to the side and send a gradual flare of pain down into the roots. A shift of his hips brings the silky skin of his thigh rubbing against Sebastian's cheek and his foot twitches and drags up along the older boy's back like a lover's caress. The movements are all lethargic at best but they're made for no other reason than Sebastian's sake.

\---

Sebastian's lips part and he breathes a bit sporadic against Jim's thigh, the one he tilts his face into while obliging the pull of his hair and crane of his neck. And it's so fucking lovely that he doesn't want to close his eyes because Jim is right there but he knows his own body and Jim is sweet to him in that lethargic glory. His mouth on thigh, he bites and not terribly hard but he leaves wetness there to kiss and brush his lips across as his hand works diligent and unsoft over the length of his arousal. Sebastian isn't much for noise on his own accord but there's a hitch of sound in his breaths as he gets faster and focused on his motion until he's tensing and bites again. It's light and the assaulted flesh just slides free of his teeth as he exhales a moan because his jaw can't fucking stay closed as it happens.

He doesn't care where the mess goes; the side of the mattress, the carpet, a little on his poised hand where he's clasped fingers around the head and squeezed. His cock pulses in his palm and it's intense. His mouth and nose are pressed into milky thigh- there's the smell of salt and sex and Jim.

And unlike Jim, Sebastian knows bliss. He's allowed that. It's blinding and quiet where nothing matters. A kind of euphoria where everything shuts the fuck up and leaves him alone unless he wants you there in that private space he escapes to. Usually he doesn't have room for anyone else, but this time, he does.

A kiss lingers on Jim's thigh again, like a thank you. His shoulders are loose like putty and maybe he's going to sink to the floor but he doesn't. Sebastian is sharply aware again because the rush of chemicals resets that restless energy he carries. He doesn't move for several moments, enjoying the peace with acute attention to the body splayed out before him. And this time he thinks Jim won't be running away.

\---

Sebastian doles out those soft kisses as if Jim's something precious again and it churns his stomach, but it's so distant that he can't be bothered by it. It's not as if Jim's done anything, it's not as if he's special or loving, or worth being anything more than a naked body to rub up against and get off. He's not an ideal partner in any way but for some reason, Sebastian is content with it. The blonde must be decidedly as fucked up as Jim and since misery loves its company, Jim just allows the boy to dote, even if he doesn't deserve any of it.

Eventually a leg slides off Sebastian's slumping shoulder and foot falls solidly to the floor. Jim makes a sound of indignation and turns the foot in to nudge a toe into the tender skin under the blond's ribcage, jolting him out of his reverie.

"I'm cold." As if that's Jim's go to; it works because he's always cold. It's an invitation for Sebastian to get back up on the bed and curl around him because Jim covets his warmth, even though he is never going to outright say so. But the other boy is too far from reach and Jim doesn't like that that because Sebastian should always be close, even when Jim is pushing him away.

\---

Ribs nudged, head lifts and the message is received. Seb can't help smiling a little, and he brushes his fingers over Jim's other thigh softly before coaxing it off his shoulder also. Whatever mess was left is forgotten and he moves to stand, a tower over Jim's small frame lying there. He takes in an eyeful and that smile doesn't go away. There may be a problem because the duvet is half scrunched and peeled from the opposite end and Jim is laying across the mattress horizontally. Well, it doesn't _really_ matter. The room is warm and so is Sebastian.

He slides down onto the mattress to the right of Jim's side using only his good arm and one knee to catch his tumbling weight, keeping himself angled. And now at least most of him is on the bed, but that's a tall order because nothing about him is short except the temper. After a moment, he shimmies a bit, not quite sitting up and his arm buries itself between Jim's thin little figure and the sheets. He curls the limb around the other's back and pulls as he flops shoulder blades onto the mattress flat, half dragging the other boy higher onto the bed and up against his torso.

\---

There is a significant amount of flailing as Jim's manhandled about the bed. He's small but he doesn't like being toted around like he is. If he wasn't lulled into a calm by endorphins, he'd be striking out and hissing and spitting. As it is, he only bristles and makes a sleepy sound of protest. Sebastian's warm and solid and he instantly rolls closer to the heated skin, plastering himself to the naked body like a limpet.

Jim doesn't hug or embrace, he's just sort of there, hands tucked up under his chin and arms bracing the larger boy's torso like a buffer. Though he doesn't need the duvet in this position, he makes a demanding noise low in his throat until Seb gets the message and slings his arm around Jim's body to ward any chill off his back. Finally he quiets, settling in a relaxed lull. He has no idea if he'll sleep, but he probably will; it’s been a week without the blond and he's become woefully dependent on him to manage any sort of rest.

\---

He knew Jim wouldn't like it but he took the risk. That's what he does in all things related to Jim.

When the other boy makes sounds of demand, he figures it out shortly and shifts a bit, tossing that other arm over Jim's side. It's useless for holding but he wouldn't do it anyway because Jim doesn't like to be caged and Sebastian knows enough about cages never to put him in one. It lays there like a guard, plaster keeping his wrist straight but fingers limp.

Sebastian is content but it will take a while for his awareness to falter. That gives him time to listen to the sounds of breath, to feel the rise and fall, a volatile fragility in his unclosed grasp. Jim is glass, truly. His body is so very breakable but his shards are so very, very dangerous. Glass can blend; it can glare or be painted with deceptions and signs like masks. A two way mirror to watch the rest of the world through. It isn't soft but it is smooth. Tiny pieces lodge themselves into the skin. And anyone who thinks to underestimate even the smallest of slivers will sorely regret it.

Sebastian adds more fragments of Jim to his little collection of memories, even when they've cut his hands to gather. In that time, he forgets to care about what the world outside of this shabby little room is like and just how frantic it was to find Sebastian Moran.

\---

A steady heart beat thuds against his cheeks and it's a lullaby to drag Jim further into this spell of comfort. So many luxuries bombard his body in a short amount of time and they are all overwhelming. He should be running- skittering off to bury himself somewhere more familiar and try to make sense of it but a sneaking, niggling voice in the back of his mind tells him he's safe here.

There are much louder voices that tell him he's not, that he's never safe and any occurrence where he may feel as such is an illusion that will soon shatter. But he's getting sleepier and sinking into that warmth and he figures if he shatters then as least he'll scar the other boy in the process.

His eyes close and the bruised side of his face is hidden and he could almost pass for content because the scowl hasn't made an appearance in several minutes. He's not quite there and he probably never will be. But he's so nearly close that he can pretend when his eyelids are shut and the rest of the world has dropped away.

\---

He'll never know if Jim really fell asleep because he hasn't learned yet that he's so very good at pretending. But Sebastian isn't, so once in a while he sighs a little as if his lungs just want a bit of extra air- or his fingers twitch, or his head moves a fraction. Eventually he's still and there is only the rise and fall of muscle protecting cage protecting muscle. He's always been a still sleeper, at least when that sleep isn't plagued. Tonight he dreams harmless nonsense and the world goes on.

Morning would happen much too soon.


	8. Kill and Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Interpret the eyes as they die.
> 
> The story of Moriarty and Moran, from the very beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **This will be updated every Saturday!**  
>     
> Warning for graphic violence in this chapter!
> 
> Thanks go out to [Hippano](http://hippano.tumblr.com/) for beta, editing and ART!

He doesn't. He doesn't sleep because Jim can pretend, he can push it away and not listen to the whirring mass or black snarl that is his mind. He can try to buy into the lies Sebastian weaves around him, but there is nothing on this Earth that will ever let Jim trust another person ever again. So he lays awake, though he looks and feels and sounds asleep. He rests and maybe that's enough for now.

Sebastian slumbers on and Jim listens and smells and looks and breathes in everything that makes up the older boy laying beside him. He knows the blond is smitten and he knows he is not, but for now this is fine because it's warm and he's not hungry and though he hurts right now, it's not Sebastian's fault. He could leave before the blond wakes up, but he doesn't, not tonight.

Maybe that's dangerous but Jim skirts around danger and comes out more or less alive every time.

When morning does start to filter through thin curtains, he starts to wriggle, uncomfortably cramped from hours of laying still. There's no slowly waking up to the soft lull of the dawn for Sebastian; Jim harshly shoves at the center of his chest to wake him up.

"Gotta piss." He grunts by way of explanation, pushing off Sebastian and climbing down off the bed to head for the loo, stiff joints creaking with protest.

\---

It's startling and maybe Jim can't tell because one arm is basically asleep under his miniscule weight so the muscles are too weak to really respond- and the other hand is so busted all it really does is curl fingers till they meet the lip of plaster half covering his palm. But Sebastian’s hands want to make fists in natural defense. Doesn't matter. He just tilts back and lays flat, breathes through his heart knocking.

Now he's staring at the ceiling and he remembers where he is. The night comes flooding back into his memory with acute detail he isn’t awake enough to really process. Blond lifts up and catches Jim's cute little arse before it disappears behind the door, then drops back to the tousled sheets. Sebastian is stiff for various reasons and one hand is completely numb, so he starts to use the other one to rub his face. But it's half plaster and when it appears in front of his face in mid gesture, he just about rolls his eyes to drop it back to the bed with an unenthusiastic bounce.

Sebastian heaves a sigh and wishes morning would go away. His fingers slowly flex as he's waking up the arm, wallowing in the strange sensation of numbness that you can never really get use to. When it starts to tingle, he cringes but now he can use it to sit up, finding his knees to the edge of the bed and his feet on the ground, leaning over himself- opening, closing, opening his hand. He tries very hard not to think about the fact that it's morning. That he needs to go back.

\---

The door closes behind him and Jim relieves himself and washes hands and face in the sink. There's a tiny complimentary bar of soap and he scrubs over his face with it to give himself a freshly rested look, but it doesn't matter today because that bruise is fading to dull purple tinged with brown and no one is going to notice the bags. His clothes are still scattered around the tile floor so he pulls them on, despite the fact his pants are somewhere in the room still.

He walks back out and roots around the bed till he finds them, stuffing the boxers into his pocket. He leaves the jumper because it's Sebastian's and he doesn't want to collect any more too nice clothes that don't fit because it'll get ruined and part of him thinks he couldn't stand that. Better to steadily waste his own things that are already shite.

When he's finished, he comes over to stand before Sebastian and looks at him, most prominently the dark mark sucked into his throat that will peer out above a collar and scream that Jim was there. People will think some tart left it and slap Sebastian on the back and congratulate him. Jim hates the thought because that's _his_. But...

“Trains are running." Is all he says.

\---

When Jim resurfaces, Sebastian is running his now awake but still mildly tingling hand over his face. He isn't good at rising no matter the hour and it’s left him groggy. Even worse to be startled out of your dreams but that's Jim, leaving an impression to linger in his system.

Now he watches him, tilting his head and steadily sitting up straight to look at the boy who is now dressed. He doesn't know the time and doesn't know when the tube begins to run because he's never out at the early hours. It may also have something to do with the fact that until his mates were _incapacitated_ , he rarely ventured out into the city without an escort of morons or a fucking car. Now he's openly breaking rules and staying out all night and showing up worse for wear. But bruises and marks are nothing new to him and just about no one has ever questioned if they noticed at all.

He just nods. He should get up. Maybe that was Jim's way of telling him to. He takes a breath and reaches down, grabbing the combination of pants and trousers that are still laying on the bedside floor. He's hungry and he wants to delay.

"Breakfast?"

\---

As Sebastian tilts his head up, even in his half awake, sleepy, rumpled state he's gorgeous. It's good that he's not grinning because Jim would be lost and might do something desperate, but Sebastian isn't a morning person and Jim thanks everything that exists and that doesn't for that fact.

The blond darts down to grab his clothes and Jim can breathe and he scoots away, wringing his hands and gnawing at his lip. He's thankful for the distraction of breakfast and he nods, moving to the small, dingy window and pushing at the curtain. London is waking up around them as well, and there's a few places open on this scummy street because not everyone is a devout Christian like half of England. For the record, Jim is Irish so he was raised painfully Catholic- but well, that's a loss because he's pretty sure he was heading down the path to sin well before Sebastian hands and mouth prompted him down that road.

"Fine."

Which means ‘Yes, thank you, I'd love to,’ but it's Jim and none of those words are in his vocabulary.

\---

Sebastian makes a little noise of acknowledgement but he's not watching Jim now, he's stepping into double layers and scooting them up his body with a little jostle and adjustment. He doesn't button them, because he stalks for the washroom next. Doesn't bother stating the obvious because the door can do that and Jim isn't stupid, he can guess it'll be a minute.

He gets the morning piss out of the way and finally buttons himself up but his thermal is still in the bedroom. At the sink, he runs the water warm and finds himself staring into glass at his reflection while it heats. He isn't sure what he sees. It's the same face that's always there but somehow, something is also different. It's under the skin, trapped in the tissue, muscle and bone where it's protected from his hands picking away at it. Festering. Then his eyes catch color and he tilts his jaw to view the mark left behind on his neck, as if that thing under his layers has blossomed on the flesh over night. His fingers reach up, press lightly, caress it... transfixed for several moments like he was viewing an ancient painting. But his mind is blank; it's too early for poetry, so all that's left is the pleasant little feel of sting and affection.

Finally he glances down and splashes water onto his face, using wetness from his hand to slide through his hair and push it back and fuck if he doesn't miss the use of the other limb. Water off. He starts to leave the loo when he catches eyes the jumper he'd forgotten about, laying abandoned. He scoops it up and carries it back into the room to find his thermal. Once they are on, he pats his pockets for the important shit - wallet, keys, his watch and a pack of cigarettes.

"Alright."

\---

Jim looks up as Sebastian walks back into the room and he's put himself back together- slicked back his hair and looking as good as ever. Jim's hair is still a ruffled mess and it will probably stay like that endlessly because Jim hasn't owned a brush in years and his fingers never do the job quite as well. It's not fair but Jim just shrugs because it is what it is. He's not ever going to look like the blond, he's going to be skinny, short Jim forever. Age may rack him up a few inches, but he's never going to hit six feet. He's not even five and a half now. His wiry arms and sunken chest couldn't support muscles if he wanted because he eats enough to keep alive but not healthy. He doesn't know what makes him so appealing to the older boy but maybe that's it too. He's older and Jim's young and small and maybe he's a fucking hebephile.

Jim stands there and thinks about this as he watches Sebastian gather himself together and decides he doesn't care. It gets him breakfast and in a week he'll be warm and fed for a good while and if he has to get fucked for it, that seems like a good enough trade off. His thigh itches beneath the bite marks left by Sebastian's teeth and he scratches a nail along his denims before falling into step beside the blond as they leave the hotel room behind. Sebastian will drink coffee and Jim will drink tea and after a plate of greasy eggs and bacon he'll be alone for another week.

\---

It's over breakfast, wherever they stopped and whatever they are eating, with that cup of coffee in his palm but his plate empty, that Sebastian finally manages to say something significant. Maybe that accounts for how long it can take the older boy to wake up but he seems more alert now and he's on his second mug, so there may be a secret revealed somewhere.

He'd been glancing out the nearest window, watching people hustle past to wherever the fuck, but he licks his lips and glances down and then up across the table at Jim like he’s finally voicing what was rolling in his head.

"They aren't going to leave me alone until holiday." If he isn't kicked out. "But I'll be there Friday afternoon."

Assurance. It's not quite a full week. Five days. He could behave himself for five days and go back to his illusions that he gave a shit about his ‘higher education.’ Would they really kick him out when he has barely a couple of months until the end?

\---

Jim picks at his food a little less, he enjoys breakfast food more than other types and it's not often he gets it. He ordered some fruit topped waffles compared to Sebastian's traditional fry up, but he does half climb over the table to stab at Sebastian's mushrooms and pop them into his mouth before his groggy companion can stop him.

As the blond gradually perks up and begins to speak, Jim licks syrup off his fork and stares at him. Jim wasn't planning on seeing Sebastian until then anyways. Etonians aren't allowed to leave campus on the weekdays. They aren't allowed to stay out all night either. Jim looks off to the side and wonders if he's fucked things up and keeping Sebastian means that his father will be furious and come home and there will be no holiday for them to have anyways.

But Jim doesn't voice any of that, he just shrugs and reaches for his tea, holding the mug in both hands as he gulps it down.

"We'll see."

\---

There's a way about Jim that sounds like he doesn't care about anything and Sebastian is... really not certain he does. And because he's selfish, he almost doesn't want to know the truth, choosing instead to believe what he believes about the other's feelings on the matter of... whatever this is. It's an illusion difficult to shatter because it's so twisted up in his fucking head that he’d make every excuse to keep it there. Sebastian pulls, Jim pushes. He's greedy and obsessed and just about anyone would probably label Jim the victim because here is big, bad Moran with his money and his power, stalking after someone fragile and undercut. He just won't leave him alone- he can't. But Sebastian has it in his head he knows better than that; Jim doesn't tolerate being a victim. If the truth of it was that Jim really hated him and was awaiting an opportunity to gut Sebastian and take him for anything he had, it was hard to say if he would be angry. Feel used, have regrets. If it would change anything. He’s selfish and he needs this in a way he doesn’t understand.

What kind of sick was he?

He did know Jim cared for one thing at least, and that was the stars.

Sebastian just nods. The conversation is over. He'll pay for the meal and he's decided to take the bus instead of the train. Maybe he’ll ride it till its end and back just to delay having to walk into the House Master’s office and smile and make up stories so everyone thought he was still that good boy with high marks that everyone liked.

But he isn't. There's something under his skin and inside of his bones and the only sign of that truth is a purplish mark blooming on his neck.

\---

Jim lingers as Sebastian pays with his endless supply of money from his nice leather wallet. He watches, as waitresses ignore him to flirt with Sebastian and cashiers mark discounts off his receipts and give him free tumblers of coffee to take with him. Jim just lingers at the edge of it all, viewing an unfolding world he's never known because _people like Sebastian._ They coo over his broken hand, the same as they turn up a lip and speak nasty comments about the shiner on Jim's face. It's extraordinary to watch and while he supposes he should feel miserable, he always has so it doesn't upset him like you'd think it would.

He shuffles after Sebastian as he walks to the bus station and buys his ticket from another smiling, flirty girl who never sees Jim- like he's invisible. And he's aggravated just a tick now because nobody seems to understand that Sebastian is _his_. He's marked three ways over in scar and cast and bruise but no one sees any of it, like they don't see Jim.

As they're standing outside of the station and the bus idles on the kerb waiting for its passengers, Jim leans up on tip toes of dirty trainers and catches Sebastian's face. He tugs him down in a lean so the small Irish boy can press a kiss to his coffee flavored mouth. Even if they didn't know Sebastian belonged to him, he'd make sure Sebastian knew.

\---

Sebastian knows. He's very aware of how people treat him because he has, all his life, used it to his advantage in one form or another. Like he needs discounts or extra coffees but it's the point of the thing, isn't it. Make them feel like they matter even a little until they don't. And he's good at playing that game. Good at flashing a smile that convinces people he's to be forgiven, good at flirting- all charm and manners put forward when he needs it. He's polite and well dressed and people like it because they have no idea that he can't fucking stand most of them. But there are advantages to people liking you. More than just discounts and an easy lay.

He doesn't think of how that affects anyone else around him because he views all these people as being so insignificant. And they are. Before, maybe he'd consider shagging the ticket girl and then going back to what he was doing. He wouldn't call, he wouldn't write, he wouldn't even avoid them because he's already forgotten there was anything significant to be courteous about.

But that won't be Jim. That's not the boy who reaches up and drags him down and kisses him in public with eyes already staring in their direction because he is who he is. And it's surprising because it's the first time Jim initiates this way, out in the open and without aggression as a prelude. After a second of stun, he responds so easily and his busted hand is the one that gets a little pinch of Jim's shirt like maybe he wanted to wrap an arm around him and pull him closer to prolong it. But it's Jim and he can't.

And he won't forget.

\---

The kiss doesn't get heated. It's slow and it's not soft, a hard mash of Jim's lips against his as if Jim is tattooing himself in place. Eventually he lets go though and slides back down to his feet. People are staring but he doesn't care; he's never cared. They don't matter. His fingers release the front of Sebastian's sweater and those dark eyes dart up to the older boy's face. There's no goodbyes, no I'll miss yous and no apologies for fucking up his week. Jim never forces Sebastian, not in the usual way you coerce others, but he doesn't have to. Sebastian will do what he thinks Jim wants, even if Jim has no idea what that is himself.

He fidgets and pushes his fingers to his mouth, covering up the fact he's licking what remains of Sebastian off his lips. When he sees the blond again, the shiner should be more or less gone, but so will the mark he put on the older boy's neck. But the cast and the scar will still be there, one of them forever. It's very satisfying to know that Sebastian will always look in the mirror and remember Jim. A week isn't so bad when he thinks of that.

He shoves Sebastian towards the bus and bounces on his heels as he watches him leave. He's eaten for the day, so he'll go to the library and find an old book about astronomy to read, which is almost as good as pointing out the faded stars to the older boy on a rooftop. Almost.

\---

Sebastian doesn't even notice people around them but they are indeed staring. Some shocked, some appalled, some confused- and at least one girl Jim's age had a hand over her mouth because she thought it was cute. But fuck the lot of them.

The taller half of this odd equation is utterly enthralled for those few moments and when Jim breaks away, he almost fights to keep him. Their lips are apart and he just stares after the other boy, frozen that way until Jim gives him a shove. Back to reality. Sebastian laughs softly, a smile stretching his face. Then he reaches up and- as if to antagonize the other boy- runs a hand through his tousled mess of dark hair, dodging any swipe that may strike as he pulls his hand away, fingers grazing past Jim's cheek as he takes another step back. He whirls around on one foot and heads onto the bus, paying no mind to the stupid look on the driver’s face or the obnoxious fucks glaring from their seats. He chooses a spot by the window just so he can watch Jim as they pull away, that smile etched like unbending stone.

\---

There's another one of those hisses Jim's makes as his hair is ruffled and he immediately claps his hands down on his head, not that he cares about the mess. But the drag of fingers across his cheek soothes him enough that there is no swipe of claws, just an indignant noise and a huffing scowl as the blond whirls away and marches onto the bus. Eventually his hands drop and hang at his sides, staring hate at the bus for daring to take Sebastian away from him. The engine roars to life and the vehicle moves on, and so must Jim.

He skips the library and just goes home because he can't focus on books anyways. Stars are so far away but Sebastian is right here and Jim can have neither.

\---

Sebastian doesn't ride the bus to it's end. He gets off at his intended stop and barely steps foot on Eton's campus without someone finding him and freaking out.  News travels fast at Eton. He brushes them off mostly because it's a classmate and he's sure they have their own stories to tell about where he's been and what he's been up to; especially once the mark on his neck is noticed. Seb stalks straight to the House Master because it will be considerably easier to ask forgiveness than to be discovered without announcement and get indignant about it.

On the Bill, he sits in a chair and listens to lectures for what must be hours. First the House Master and then the Headmaster. Then his father is on the phone in his ear and while there is no yelling, threats hiss like vipers and promises are made. Not last is the Dame, who flounders about upset and worried like a nanny would- because she really is a glorified nanny. There are a lot of false apologetic statements made, a lot of nodding and yes sirs to look rightfully regretful. He tells them he got drunk, that it was cold, that he slept in a hotel because it was late and he was on the other side of London when he realized the time. He lies through his teeth but he's so fucking charming and they think he’s been through hell this year, so they fall for it. But he's not without trouble. 1000 Hexameters in the week. He’ll see no free time outside of his room, he’s to check in at every div and back at his House on time, every time. For the rest of his time at Eton. Expulsion will be imminent if this is not adhered to.

They can't keep him from holiday but he'll be paying for it a while. He's watched like a hawk all week and a rumor goes around amongst his house that he was out with a _girlfriend_. That rumor spreads to other houses; as if he cares. When they ask, he just tells them that a true gentleman doesn't chatter as if his affairs are conquests and that shuts them up because they want to be like him; a gentleman. Laughable.

He's checked on even after returning to his dorm room at the end of divs and attends extra study periods in the pupil room with the tutor to keep him occupied- which is ridiculous because his marks are high but those hexameters won't write themselves and he may as well make use of the isolation. He gets no time to sit out in the grass, to feel the sun for longer than the minutes it takes him to reach his next lecture. So he sits in his room and finds himself staring longingly at the spider cracks on his window when he's lost all will to concentrate on the next line of ancient drivel.

The week is long and his only relief is that Sir Augustus is out of the country and won't be returning just to discipline his son and ruin his unannounced plans.

\---

Jim goes through the week without much upset, students and teachers alike steer clear of him because of the mottled face. The adults should be calling his parents for concern but he has no parents to speak of and the age of majority is sixteen and he’s nearly there, so there really was nothing legally to do. Not that they would. He goes to classes and turns in work but he doesn't talk to anyone as usual. He spends a lot of time in the library and oddly, the art building, salvaging poster board and markers to make a star chart of the sky over wherever Sebastian's estate was.

Finally Friday comes along and Jim gathers his clothing, stuffing it into a knapsack. He's washed everything in his small sink with washing powder and hung them to dry around the tiny flat because the laundromat is too expensive. He packs his supplies and his toothbrush too and that was it because he didn't have much more. He figures Seb probably has something grand like a library so he shouldn't need any books.

Hiking the bag up on his shoulders, he wobbles under the weight and locks up his flat; not that it matters. The shiner has faded away, leaving his skin pale again with only the slight shadows under his eyes that’s always there anyway from his lack of proper sleep. He makes it down to the meeting place they'd agreed upon, one of Westminster’s libraries, feeling slightly ridiculous for hoping it hadn't been a lie.

\---

Friday, at last. Divs are over, the last gathering is done, and they are released to either visit home or stay on campus in leisure for those whose homes are too far for just a week visit. There are parents embracing children and socializers all over the walkways and Seb ducks through and in and out to get back to his House. He grabs only one thing; his latest leather journal.

He's still in his tails when he finds the car, a large and expensive Bentley with real leather on the seats. He greets the driver like an old friend, making a crack about how he's still working for his father and he gets a quip back about being so ancient that Sir Augustus is just chalk on the board. It makes him grin but he's already in high spirits, impatient for how long it takes to get away from Windsor and into central London.

He's delayed in traffic for a time, drumming his fingers impatiently on the seat as he stares out the window. Forty five minutes becomes more like an hour and a half, still minutes away from arrival but he isn’t late just yet.

 

 

In front of the library where Jim waits, someone else has arrived before Sebastian. He attends the same school with Jim; the size of large rugby player and a good Jim and a half wider. It seems his blubbery head has gotten the idea that today is the day he's going to do something about the weird little creeper everyone's so scared of. Maybe it's because Jim waiting, because he has a bag on his shoulders like he has somewhere to be. Maybe because that boy’s parents are in a screaming match at home and he needs to take it out on someone- and there is Jim, a beacon for trouble. In a matter of moments, Chubbycheeks is trying to drag the scrawny boy down into the alleys where he can knock him around proper. Pushing, shoving, taking Jim’s bag from him, antagonizing the other boy by tossing it aside on the dirty pavement. He's grabbing at Jim's scrawny arm and he's ready to ball up meaty fists to send them boxing into that empty stomach with full discrimination.

\---

When he sees the tall figure approach, he thinks it's Sebastian at first and makes the mistake of smiling. That seems to upset the other boy more than anything and he rushes Jim, shouting abuse. Jim's face falls immediately and turns for the kerb to abandon the spot. It’s been a long time since anyone actually wanted to fight and Jim is unprepared. He let his guard down.

A dull, dead feeling coils inside of him that this whole thing was a setup to finally get him back and he remembers the older boy's words about how elaborate and round about a way Jim took for his revenge. Maybe that's what this all was. A bit of Jim dies as he's thrown up against the brick wall in the alley, bag falling to the ground and splitting open, spilling out its over stuffed contents that are all Jim owns in the world.

Jim doesn't hunch to protect his stomach because he knows this game, knows it’s a ploy to get at his face while he's trying to protect something else. It's what he'd do after all. So he gets a sweaty fist slammed into his abdomen so hard that if he'd eaten anything, he'd probably vomit. Instead he staggers and dry heaves, vision blurring for a moment while he contemplates the death of this boy.

\---

Sebastian abandons the car finally. It's a short walk to get to the library and his driver is patient with him, he'll park and Seb will return with his charge. He should have taken the train and made Henry meet him here instead, at least the tube was usually reliable for time- cars don’t jumble up and get in the way of the tracks. He stalks off towards their meeting place almost jogging in his fast pace.

But nearby the entrance and neither around the surrounding iron fences was there a familiar frame with slouched posture or messy brunet hair. He doesn't hold his breath, just utters underneath it as he actually does jog in those shiny leather shoes.

"Come on, Jim..."

Maybe he’s gone inside? Maybe he’s avoiding the in and out of people who now brush past Sebastian instead. He searches up and down the sidewalk in a quick glance. Sebastian is stupidly hopeful, a clattering feeling knocking around in his chest that he could almost mistake for nervous. Maybe Jim is just not here yet. He starts up the few steps into the building but with fingers poised on the handle, he can hear the heated shuffle of feet and the angry voice of a puffed up teenager around the nearby corner. There’s a pap of flesh and bone to covered body, because one blow to the stomach isn't enough for a fucker with a chip on his shoulder.

 

It's not enough for Sebastian either.

It’s all abrupt. A good hand gets a grip on oily hair and jerks the kid's head back so fast he almost snaps the bastard's neck. It interrupts another swing and it doesn't matter where it was aimed because it isn't arriving at its destination now. That fat face is tilted back, the large boy stumbling a step with the yank of a good arm and then it's smashed into the brick right beside Jim. There’s force enough in the impact to burst open the flesh as if it were swollen with excessive blood. And it happens again and again and _again-_ the fourth hit makes bloody pulp of chubby cheeks and bulbous nose and how unfortunate for this dazed motherfucker, because that's still not quite satisfying enough.

Sebastian peels the kid’s face off the spattered brick and snaps his arm back, letting the boy trip and fall backwards onto the pavement in an awkward tumble. He doesn't look at Jim, he doesn’t even pass his eyes over him and there's something absolutely twisted in his expression. Putting a foot down on bloated belly, he presses all of his weight against the tender space beneath the strange boy’s rib cage, listening to the gargle of mashed facial bits trying to breathe. But this kid ate heartily today and he's damn well chucking it now.

\---

Jim makes himself slack waiting for another blow that never comes, his eyes screwed up tight as he wills it all just to be over. And his wishes are answered but not in the way he imagined. He feels the whoosh of air by his face and feels the crunch of flesh against the brick, but its not his. He slowly opens his eyes and is caught in the spray of blood as it flecks across his face from his assaulter being slammed up against the wall by… Sebastian.

The blond boy is death dressed in pressed coat tails. His visage is contorted into pure rage and hatred as he ruins Jim's attacker’s face and then it’s still not enough. He's dropping the other boy to the ground and pressing down on him with fury. Jim's eyes are wide and for a moment there's no pain, only shock. Sebastian is an avenging angel, scarily beautiful in his swift and merciless punishment. Jim watches transfixed, then stumbles forwards and presses himself against Sebastian's back. The kid is ruined, it's enough.

"Stop."

Jim whispers, skinny arms wrapping around the older boy's torso. It’s not in pity or horror he commands, but Jim wants to get out of here before a bobby wanders by and hauls them in. He still wants his holiday, _desperately_ now.

\---

Under a full set of dress, he is so tense the muscles are practically screaming. His wrist too, as he's digging the fingers into his half covered palm, straining the tendons because one balled fist is not enough. And the boy, there's nothing much left to him but the gurgling sound and the wide space he takes up. Sebastian's chin is tilted upward and it's a murderous look, smug and so fucking hateful that it's doubtful all the rage he'd conjured up is really just for this one boy. But he's so very content to watch the kid die. Right here.

But something presses to his tails, arms circle him and a soft voice so familiar says _stop_ and every muscle in Sebastian abruptly freezes except that raging heart.

There's a moment of stillness where he's heaving breaths and maybe the older boy is coming back into his head, back to the alley, a violent haze clearing with eyes transfixed on the bubbles of vomit and blood spewing from barely recognizable tissue. The expression of twisted anger melts off but his mouth remains tight with how trivial that boy's life is. Just like that, he's forgotten. Just like that, he is ended and the only thing left of significance in his existence is the regret he will die with for putting his hands on Jim.

Sebastian’s good fingers snap up to Jim's arms and curl around a wrist. It's not rough, the way he pulls it loose to pivot sharply around and look at him. The anger is still there but it's a worried kind, where Sebastian glances over Jim quickly, bad hand on Jim's shoulder. Damage isn't obvious but there's blood spattered on his face and it brings out a terribly fierce protectiveness in him that he doesn't understand. It rages in his chest like every rapid beat pumps lava through his veins. He doesn't say a goddamn word. Suddenly, he moves and starts to pull Jim out of the alley in a hurry to get him far, far away from this- never mind the things strewn about.

\---

Jim stills as the hand closes around his wrist and Sebastian pulls him free. He doesn't flinch, even though that's the usual reaction. Maybe its because his torso aches and moving is a bit painful, but it might just be because he's sure Sebastian isn't going to hurt him in this moment. And he's right, the older boy just stares, that bloodthirsty rage drained from his face a bit so he's not so scary. He's just worried and upset now and that translates to the way he keeps a hold of that hand and drags Jim from the alleyway.

The little brunet glances back at the mess that's been left, not because of the battered boy laying in his own sick, but at his sole belongings strewn across the filthy ground. His real regret is over the star chart that he'll never get to make.

He lets himself be dragged, small feet shuffling to keep up and there's no tears and no sobs because Jim used all that up so long ago. There's only a numbness that spreads and it's not all from the blows to his stomach. He doesn't look where they're going and assumes it's to a car and that's fine because he really wants to sit before he folds over in pain.

\---

He doesn't try to drag Jim but it might have looked that way to anyone who did a double take at the pair of boys moving down the street with haste, one of them dressed in an iconic suit of high education- _Thank bloody heaven_ he doesn't attend Harrow and have to wear that stupid fucking hat right now. He makes no stops, just weaves them across the street and to the silvery cream car parked idle. Henry, the driver, doesn't get much of an eyeful of their guest before Sebastian opens the door and finally lets Jim's wrist go, holding open the heavy metal to let the other slide in first.

He slams the door shut behind them hard enough that Sebastian can feel it in ribs. He turns to Jim immediately and uses his bad hand to touch under the other boy’s chin, gently lifting and turning his face to the side. The other hand hurriedly tugs the sleeve of his suit down over his palm and uses Eton finery to wipe blood off Jim’s cheek and temple- not exactly gentle but he isn't terribly rough about it either.

\---

Jim takes back his wrist and shimmies across the leather seat to the opposite side of the car, intent on curling up and closing his eyes and willing the ache to go away in his abdomen. But Sebastian won't let him because he's pulling Jim towards him for inspection and cleaning his face and _caring_.

And it's nearly too much for Jim to be fawned over like this, because he's not worth it, because he's back to nothing when he had so little to begin with and had to struggle even for that. So the words that come out of his mouth along with that ever permanent scowl are-

"You look so stupid in that."

\----

Sebastian stops what he's doing and glances to make eye contact with Jim, focusing on him for a minute and not just the blood he wants gone. And briefly, he looks like he cannot comprehend what Jim has just said. Almost as if he can’t fathom what relevance these words have amongst the angry storm in his mind.

He swipes another little drop off Jim's brow. "Next time, I'll change."

He pulls away to leave him be but he watches. He knows Jim was hit, but how many times he can't account for and there's nothing he can do except-

"Henry. Stop at a chemist." Because yes, there are supplies at home but that's a fair drive to the outskirt of London in late afternoon traffic.

\---

Jim doesn't have it in him any more to complain about stops made on his behalf, or even resist curling up in a ball like a weak animal gored and suffering in its nest. Any excitement and happiness he dared allow himself has been sucked out of him and the walls are slamming down furiously, trapping him inside with only the black snarls in his head for company.

He's compacted himself into a tight ball on the seat, wedged up against the other door so closely that if it opened, he'd tumble out into the street. Curling in on himself really doesn't help the pain but it seems to condense it into one spot where it's easier to deal with. Things like this are what happens when Jim dares to find happiness in a world that's abandoned him. A reminder that he's nothing and fate will keep sending torture to him and Sebastian can't fight them all off.

\---

Sebastian sits back in his seat, to the farthest end where he's half leaning against the door and watching Jim opposite to him. And he doesn't want to be that far but he can see the other boy closing up and he's afraid if he moves too close, Jim will run. He doesn't have confidence that being in a moving car would stop him.

Silently, his jaw is tight and he's angry. Angry that this may have utterly ruined their holiday. Angry that someone put their fucking hands on Jim again. Angry that he didn't get there sooner, that he didn't take the train or just get out of the car earlier and walk because at least ten minutes would have been saved and bloody hell, that better not have been going on for ten fucking minutes.

He doesn’t think about that boy. About the blood and ache over his knuckles from the impact against the kid’s skull with every slam against the bricks. He shuts it out just like he does every blow of rosewood.

Sebastian exhales through his nose, long winded frustration and intensity bearing down on Jim in the form of his gaze. The chemist isn't far and he pops out and back in minutes, returning with a bottle of water, painkillers and a bag of apple crisps he isn't sure Jim will eat but he always picks fruit out of his meals. It's the best they have in a little shop and he knows you are not supposed to take meds on an empty stomach.

Seb plops them in his lap after the door thuds shut in his wake again, softer this time but barely. He takes each thing out of the plastic bag and lays them there on the seat in the space between them like little offerings because he's pathetic and he could not stop this from happening anymore than he can stop what ails Jim.

\---

If Jim is aware that Sebastian is gone, he doesn't take note of it. He's closing his eyes at the smell of blood that isn't his but it still lingers. It’s just markers and posterboard but he's pining over its loss like it was something more. Maybe it's something he can put his grief into because it's suddenly so overwhelming.

Something crinkles next to him on the seat and he lifts his head wearily, looking at the line of things set up across the leather. He blinks, tilting his head further to look up at Sebastian and the older boy is trying so hard to play a game he'll never win, but he continues anyway.

Jim slowly gathers all of the offerings and tucks them against his chest. Then he crawls over and into Sebastian's lap, settling against the older boy as he opens his bag of crisps first and sniffs at the contents before taking one out and silently nibbling at it.

\---

That was more than he hoped for and he tries not to let that get him terribly optimistic but it's hard to suffocate a little swell in your chest, especially when your emotions are already agitated. With a move of his arm, he accommodates Jim sidling up to him. Like a curious hawk, he watches Jim's inspection of the crisps from over a small shoulder and raises brows in anticipation to see if he approves or not.

And they don't need to talk because they never really have. Jim does things and Sebastian watches and somehow it's telepathy by which they communicate. But it's a skill they are still refining and sometimes it takes a little trying to hear correctly.

A glance into the mirror doesn't seem to bother the driver terribly and he's set the course for home as if he's nothing more than a ghost operating a machine.


	9. I Come with Knives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To love you.
> 
> The story of Moriarty and Moran, from the very beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This will be updated every Saturday!**
> 
> Brackets are used in this chapter for second language being spoken because I don't speak french (but I wish I could.) Nor do I especially trust Google's rough translations not to bastardize the language. It's very minor in this chapter but a little more prominent in upcoming. (However, if anyone native or fluent would like to contribute, we definitely would appreciate and credit!)
> 
> Many thanks you [Hippano](http://hippano.tumblr.com/) for her continued beta reading and art~!  
> Thanks also go out to [Pieofthelord](http://pieofthelord.tumblr.com/) for French translations!

It's not cuddling in any sense of the word because Jim doesn't do that. He's using Sebastian more like a bit of furniture but it's not like he'd ever do this with anyone else. Jim nibbles at the crisps and though they aren't ideal, they aren't awful either. He uncurls a bit so his skinny legs dangle down over Sebastian's and he leans back against a broad chest like it's something they've done before and it's not a big deal.

Once he's finished a third of the bag, he opens the painkillers and takes only one because he's small and doesn't want to dope himself up completely. The water comes next and he takes a long swig, then passes the bottle up to Sebastian without looking because now his attention is on the city they're leaving behind. Jim hasn't been out of London in over a year now, even though it's been cruel to him. It isn’t anywhere near as cruel as what he's experienced before.

\---

So he's a chair now and that's fine. Jim is so light that the weight on him isn't much of a burden and it punctuates what he already knows. Jim's been in his lap before but this lasts a good while and quietly Sebastian enjoys that. Water offered, or maybe more like passed on, he takes a sip and joins Jim in staring out the window. There isn't much else to do on this drive.

He knows this route. How the city starts to break up into sparser and shorter buildings and eventually there's lush green and bursts of trees down winding roads. At least, it would be green if it were not winter and the leaves have left the branches barren, as well as the grass yellow. It's a long drive from central London. They turn down a road that seems endless, lined in luxury. Houses begin to crop up that are wider than they are tall but still manage to tower a fair bit because the spaces between floors are built for giants.

None of these houses ever look any different- that is, nothing changes here. It's all ancient and well kept because you're a black sheep if you don't hire a grounds keep. As they travel, there's at least one other car stopped in a long drive where a boy dressed in tails steps out. Sebastian can't remember his name. But then the mansions begin to flourish gates and fences that grow in height and mass like an unspoken cockfight for prestige. Manors become estates, getting farther and farther back in their extended properties until all you can really see are the tops of the old money they protect. Finally they slow, turning into a drive that breaks between gray stone walls guarded by black iron gates. Henry reaches to the visor and electronically summons the iron to part ways.

They pull into a long length of pavement surrounded in evergreen grass and shrubbery touched by winter death, circling to a stop in front of a house made of soft grays and off whites. It's two high-ceiling stories and an attic tall but even wider and it's hard to tell how far back it goes because it encompasses so much of the view frame from front side. It's not nearly the biggest and certainly not royally expansive like a small castle but it has fair grounds of well tended garden where other houses have more pointless, empty rooms. Sebastian's bad hand is closest to the door but he doesn't fetch it because Henry pops out of the car as soon as it's stopped and opens it for the collage of Jim and Sebastian.

He gives a little bow and makes a point of saying-

"Welcome home, sir." And normally, that would be irritating to Sebastian because he doesn’t want to be here.

\---

Jim leans into Sebastian and sighs, still occasionally nibbling at a crisp every now and then as he memorizes the route to Sebastian's ancestral home. The medication starts to do its work and the pain fades to a dull ache that's just a barely there echo in his awareness. His stomach will surely bruise but at least it's not his face.

He watches the houses start to become mansions and manors and hatred makes him tense slightly. His whole flat could fit in a single room and there would still be left over space. It's so lavish and extravagant and no one needs that much house but they have it because it's a way to show off their status and power. Jim's not impressed, he's disgusted. Why Sebastian wants to bring Jim to this world he doesn't belong in is beyond the small Irish boy, but Jim will take advantage of it because there will be no one to punch him and the kitchen will be stocked and the beds will be warm and soft.

As the car is stopped and the door is opened, Jim doesn't flinch out of his spot but he does shoot Henry a look of pure loathing. The staff here aren't loyal to Sebastian, they answer to a man who signs their paychecks and surely word of Jim will reach the true lord of the manor in time. But it doesn't matter because Jim will be gone before he ever gets thrown out. That's an indignity he won't suffer. His pride is all he has left.

Jim has no bags, so he just climbs down out of Sebastian's lap and steps onto the pavement of the car park, tugging down an over large jumper that's covered in a bit of brick dust across his back from being shoved into a wall. He doesn't wait, he wanders off to start exploring the grounds and find every vantage point and nook and cranny for hiding.

\---

Sebastian doesn't know the loathing Jim shares. It doesn't quite cross his mind that maybe bringing him here is insensitive or some other nonsense. He never thinks of it like charity or a good intentioned favor he's doing for Jim. He too selfish for that. He brought Jim here because he didn't want to be trapped in this alone. Because he likes the fact Jim couldn't care any less about his name or where he came from. He isn't impressed and he doesn't view all of this as a symbol of worth. He wants Jim here because there's a part of him who hates it too and anyone else would probably call him a spoiled cunt for it.

After Jim climbs out Sebastian follows, reaching for his leather bound and taking it with him. He gives the house a glance over with a neutral expression and quietly thanks Henry. He isn't particularly worried over the driver making calls to his father. He and Henry are on friendly enough terms that he knows the old man is none so impressed with Sir Augustus. The house staff on the other hand are so largely afraid of the man, they will report to him like lapdogs and there will be a phone call but Sebastian doesn't care.

He's quickly following Jim and the other boy's utter disregard for traditional greetings makes him smile. The gardens are his favorite and he knows what few secrets there are, like the best places to sit and read because the sun is shaded away so well.

\---

Jim ignores paths made out of brick and plunges straight away into rose bushes whose thorns snag on his thin jumper and tug at his already mussed up hair. He ducks down beside the man made pond and hugs his knobby knees to his chest as he stares at fish, prodding the water till they break the surface and mouth at his finger in hopes of it being food. He makes quite an effort to steer clear of spider webs stretched over tree branches and he disregards comfy looking chaise lounges in favor of laying down in a patch of sunny grass to try to sap the warmth from the ground. It's like a park because none of it is natural but he won't be bothered by other annoying people milling about him, so he supposes it's nice.

Finally he climbs back to his feet and flicks blades of grass from his hair, then looks up at Sebastian who has been following him throughout his tramp across the grounds. Jim doesn't care about having a tour, it's just a building and buildings have roofs that keep you from seeing the stars at night so he doesn't find any of them impressive.

"Do you have a library?"

He asks, because that's something slightly important and this is an opportunity to read books he might not have access to otherwise. He does need to do some exploring around the house for certain things and learn the layout for a few rooms, but that won't be too much of a hardship he thinks.

\---

Sebastian does follow, although he ducks out of rose bushes to follow alongside them, maneuvering around thorns and catching branches because he's still in his tails. He watches Jim as he trails behind a few steps, hands in pockets, intrigued over Jim's type of curiosity. He stands by the pond side to watch the fish and when Jim lays in the grass, he spends his time scouring the view because it's the only thing he ever looks forward to here. And nothing has changed. It’s winter and nearly everything suffers its little death, so it shies in beauty but it’s kept as he always remembers it and that suits him. Spring will see it alive again.

A smile stretches when Jim addresses him finally.

"Yes."

And there are all manner of books with grand subjects there but something in particular he thinks Jim will like. With a nod of blond, he directs them towards the house, around a fountain display, before stepping in through the back doors where he startles a maid because she didn't realize Sebastian was here already; much less had a guest. He doesn't return her greeting, leading Jim past an open sitting room and through the main hall which cuts through the center of the entire house. It leads straight towards the foyer staircase at the front, which curves upward to the second floor. Everything here is as disgustingly grand as you think it is. Old fashioned, creams and mahogany and accents of deep earthy hues with strange foreign decor sitting out like trophies on tables and desks amongst heirlooms. Most of the paintings are of curious, distant places painted by European hands and as they pass beneath the staircase they must ascend, a piano sits unassuming in its shadow.

\---

The maid doesn't get so much as a once over; it's not that Jim is above servants, he's just above _people_. He follows behind Sebastian this time, letting him lead if only because he is unfamiliar. His eyes dart around and take everything in and then they land on the piano in the shadow of the stairs.

He stops.

And he almost collapses with the rush that pushes through him, making every inch of his skin vibrate with something that he thought had died long ago. It's childlike excitement and he is beyond thrilled, breaking off to move over and crack up the cover housing the ivory keys. It's obvious it's here for decoration but its been kept up and cleaned because this manor has maids to do that sort of thing.

Jim runs his fingers over the keys with such reverence and the library is forgotten. He sits down on the bench and pushes up his overlong sleeves, fingers resting on the ivory, his favorite pieces flitting behind his eyelids until he picks one. One of Chopin's Nocturnes, piece 14, because it's soft but a little frantic and there's something lurking beneath the notes and Jim likes when music is complex like that.

Minutes melt away as he delves into the keys and the music they create with just a bit of pressure from his fingertips. It goes on for an hour before Jim ever stops, before he's run out of notes and his fingers ache from misuse. But those coils of happiness he thought were destroyed for good have returned and the holiday isn't ruined after all because he's smiling.

\---

Sebastian realizes a few steps away that Jim has stopped, pivoting sharply on his heel like he does when he's dressed in suits proper. Eyes on Jim with a question soon answered, the other boy stands at the piano that has not seen the caress of fingers since Sebastian was a boy who pressed the keys in experimentation. Someone would always come along and shoo him away as if they were not meant to be touched.

There's something about the way that Jim reaches out and looks almost lovingly at the instrument as if a friend long lost- it makes Sebastian lose his air. Those slender fingers begin to dance along the keys and a melody fills the foyer, bounding through the main hall, diving into rooms, floating up into the second floor. It's overwhelming how it hits him, like a revelation only the heart can know.

He's stunned for several minutes there, standing in the middle of the hall watching. Jim seems lost somewhere that Sebastian will never know. The melody is one that takes your heart on a journey through sweetness and suffering and he has not- ever- been an emotional creature but it's heart breaking and beautiful. The entire house must hear it- and they all come to peak into foyer because they know it cannot be Sebastian.

This house is forever cursed with silence, both screaming and eerie. Suddenly, it fills with life, elegant and passionate. Curious eyes find Jim there, a strange boy with clothes too big but his hands create the most lovely of things and how could anyone- _Anyone_ \- think poorly of such magic?

In that hour, Sebastian finds the old loveseat just across from the piano, blindly feeling his way into it because he won't take his eyes off Jim's playing. He sinks into the cushion as if his knees have gone weak and if there was fascination in his stare before, it is reverence now.

\---

When he's finished, Jim takes his hands off the keys and rubs at the stiff joints in his fingers, but the ache there sings and it's not like the ache in his stomach. It's good and he brought it on himself doing something he loves. Jim pulls the cover back down and finally looks around- a man with a knife could have jabbed him in the back and he wouldn't have noticed till he bled out and slouched to the ground. Never forwards, not on the piano. A quick glance reminds him where he is, eyes falling on Sebastian just sitting in the chair, staring.

They've known each other as more than just a threat for about three weeks and maybe only six days total, truly. He's spoken perhaps a mere hundred words and most of them unkind. But there Sebastian sits and he has that look on his face again that means Jim is special and amazing and something he really is not. But Jim is starting to hate that stare less and less.

He climbs off the piano bench and his smile hasn't wavered yet. It's muted a bit from when he was playing but it's definitely not gone and this time he reaches out a hand to Sebastian, tugging him from the seat. He doesn't let go even when the older boy is back on his feet. Thin fingers curl in the larger hand and it warms stiff joints and he's not letting go anytime soon as they finally make their way to the library.

\---

It's the first time he's ever seen a smile on Jim's face. Really seen. Not something that skitters away the moment it happens. Everything that lingers there are scowls and neutrality but the smile writes them all out and it stays... It stays even when his eyes leave the object of affection and turn to him. And Sebastian is returning it even though that smile doesn't really belong to him, it belongs to the piano; The piano which was now Jim's.

He meets the hand gingerly when it outstretches to him but he doesn't move quite yet because he's still in half dazed awe of the boy standing before him. He looks so sweetly younger when he smiles. Even mutely.

It takes a moment longer, a little tug and he finally stands hand in hand with Jim. After a delayed second, he peels his gaze free and leads Jim to the stairs just beyond the piano, a peaceful quiet settling through the manor. He catches in the corner of his eye at least one staff member ducking out of sight as to not disturb them but she matters not. He isn't sure the library can compare to the piano, not at all, but he hopes it will please Jim even a fraction as much as the instrument did.

It's wall to wall books collected over generations of the Moran family, an open room just as lavish as the rest. Mahogany woods, a fireplace- chairs, chaise, couches and tables meant for lounging. It was obvious that the current generation of Moran was not the one who built this collection, but little more than modernizations were.

\---

Jim lets go of Sebastian's hand now and wanders over to look at the shelves of books. They are higher than he is, most things are actually, but he spots a rolling ladder and drags it over to clamber up and inspect the titles of the books. When he finds one he's interested in, Jim carries it down and over to set on the table, far gentler with the texts than he is with anything else in life, even himself. And then he's bounding up to claim another and another, until he has a fair collection waiting for him.

He surveys his prizes then looks up at blond and the smile still hasn't faded all the way. It may not be Sebastian's, but he's allowed to see it and that's just as good.

"Where are we sleeping?" Because Jim has decided he's sleeping with Sebastian; he doesn't trust the house or its occupants and he's not staying in an unknown place by himself without a wall of muscle protecting him from the outside world. Because Sebastian can protect, he'd proven it earlier in the alleyway.

\---

Sebastian meanders further inside, glancing around the room as if anything might have changed. It hasn't. No one but a maid has likely stepped foot in here for anything more than dusting since he was last home in December. Sebastian estimates he must have read a third of the books in this room, starting from the age of nine or so. His first year of Eton, he took an armful with him to his dorm but Eton has it’s own extensive libraries and so, now he leaves this collection for the breaks when he comes home and bares actually staying. He draws fingers along a table as he circles the room, but eyes are on Jim's content book collecting now.

After Jim seems satisfied with his choices, he's still smiling and that means Sebastian is too. Something of a success. He stops beside the gathered stack and to Jim's inquiry, he nods.

"There's one more thing."

He nudges his head lightly and leads the way to a old spiral staircase of metal which rests in corner, leading upward to the attic space above. It's an area not often visited even by the maids, so a few layers of dust linger on everything but it isn't important. He knows exactly where he's going, weaving through old decor and trunks of who knew but the boy who'd spent plenty of time digging through them. Sebastian used to hide in here, when it was raining or too cold to hide in the gardens. Small handprints can be seen where the dust settled on traces of oil made years ago. By one of the tiny windows is a covered item standing upright and Sebastian bends slightly to pick up the hem of cloth while he explains.

"It probably needs to be cleaned up a bit." He's careful in pulling off the dressing, dust fluttering to reveal an old telescope. They were far enough on London's skirt that light pollution and dense smog cleared to give life to the sky. It’s nothing compared to the power of newer technology, but he was certain that none of the lenses were cracked and the old mechanisms still turned.

"We can move it outside." He suggests, because it was obviously no use up here.

\---

Jim looks up questioningly at Sebastian but follows him anyways. The manor hasn't been too bad so far, he's decided, though that could easily be because Sebastian has been acting as a buffer between Jim and reality. He climbs the narrow spiraling staircase, though it creaks beneath Sebastian's and his weight. As they reach the small attic, Jim runs his fingers through the dust covering a box; it's a bit of the house that isn't perfect and he likes that.

When Sebastian speaks and gains his attention by pulling up a faded cloth, Jim stares. He looks at the telescope, then back to Sebastian, honestly shocked that the older boy bothered remembering this about him. That he loves the stars more than anything on this Earth and it's so ironic because those twinkling lights aren't Earth bound by any means.

It's not like the piano. He doesn't run to it. This isn't some happenstance, Sebastian brought him up here specifically for this, to show him. Jim shuffles his feet and twists his fingers and there's a stutter in his throat as he draws a deep breath. Finally he moves over to the old telescope and timidly reaches up, running his fingers over the casing. He looks up at Sebastian again, unsure, waiting for there to be some sort of conditions laid out that Jim would probably agree to. But there aren't any. Just an offer to bring it downstairs.

Jim looks back at the telescope and its all so overwhelming he doesn't have any idea what to say. He moves forwards and pushes his face against Sebastian's chest, burying it there and curling his fingers in the older boys posh uniform.

\---

It's another surprise. No snarky remarks or nonchalant acceptances because Sebastian was right when he guessed- and anyone should have if they weren't as dense as pavement- that Jim loved the starry sky. It was the only time Jim had spoken at length and it was under the patch of visible stars that he saw a new, genuine side of the other boy. With Jim agreeing to spend the break with him, over that long week of wait apart, this was what Sebastian thought of. The old telescope he once discovered in the attic. It must have been a fair long while since it was last used for more than peeking around the dusty room because it was hard to imagine Augustus doing so even as a child. Perhaps the man’s siblings, but Sebastian scarcely knew them to tell.

And even when he guessed Jim would like the telescope, the reaction is still one unexpected. It's another Jim, amongst a great collection of them he was putting together in his mind, tucked away safe. Staring down at the smaller figure pushed up against him, Seb uses his good hand to slip through Jim's hair, lips pulling a little more to extend his smile.

"We'll come back and get it before dark."

Which was not terribly far away but dinner and a change before time consuming activities seemed a good order of events.

\---

At Sebastian's plans to return for it later, Jim nods. It's not much use during the day, it had to be calibrated surely and you need the night sky for that. His head moves against the hand in his hair, and he tilts it back gently so as not to dislodge the hand there.

Sebastian is so very, very good to him, better than anyone has ever been, not that there have been many who try at all. Jim is... not, in return. It's not what he knows and even though he'd like to think such kindness would bring along an instant change, it doesn't because a few weeks does not untangle the snarl inside of him that's been knotting for a decade.

But he can try. He can make an effort and show Sebastian he appreciates it, that he cares for something just a little bit. He leans up on his tip toes and parts his lips, just a fraction. It's an invitation and a thank you, and Jim's not some great treasure but he'll give the only thing he has to Sebastian, which is himself.

\---

To Jim's indication, Seb leans down to meet his lips, a tilt of blond fitting them perfectly together in time with the movement of his hand drawing from dark hair to jawline where his thumb brushes Jim's cheek.

And what Jim has yet to understand is that Sebastian doesn't need him to change, because he's perfect just the way he is. Scarring and broken bones and affectionate marks just so.

\---

Jim makes a noise of utter contentment against Sebastian's mouth and arms stretch up best they can to circle around the older boy's neck. It's quite a reach, and there's no way he could hold it for long. But he doesn't have to, just these few moments where it's Jim and Sebastian- and it's not just the telescope and the books and the piano; Jim is happy with Sebastian too.

He'll never, never understand it but for some reason the blond boy thinks him worthy of attention. He may not comprehend but he's so grateful for it and Jim can do his part to make sure Sebastian is happy too. Because he deserves it.

\----

He decidedly likes that little noise.

Sebastian helps a little by leaning down further and pressing into their kiss a bit firmer. Even though he knows Jim will probably protest, he does it anyway and slides his half useless arm around the smaller waist, pressing Jim up tighter against his tails. Just for a few moments that belong to them, a second of time they can steal out of reality.

\---

And Jim doesn't protest because this kiss belongs to Sebastian; this moment is his and he can do with it as he pleases. Not to say Jim isn't enjoying it either, because he's certainly not doing any of this against his will. The concept of affection and sex are still very new to him experience wise, but he is in no way naive. He knows Sebastian's obsession is not entirely innocent, but he doesn't just want Jim's body, he wants his mind and maybe that shrunken apple core in his chest, but those are oh so much harder to get to.

For now Jim can give this because it's easy and it makes Sebastian happy when Jim is affectionate.

But he's promised a telescope and Jim is impatient so he breaks the kiss and sinks back to his feet, feeling the fingers slide from his cheek as he blinks up at Sebastian because normal people have dinner and change clothing while people like Jim don't care and are slave only to the call of the stars.

\---

Sebastian doesn't like to think about the complexities of his feelings for Jim. It's a confusing muddle of self awareness he hasn't quite accepted yet and he finds himself just moving on impulse much of the time. Strangely, that meant he was laughing into a pillow which tries to suffocate him, and another day, he is perfectly content to something tender, even when both of these things are wielded by the same person.

He lets Jim go as soon as the other indicates the break of kiss, and it was a thank you he understood silently. But by now they were both likely hungry and Sebastian didn't want to look at his uniform for another week, much less be wearing it.

"Let's get out of this penguin suit."

He leads them back down into the library, letting Jim descend first, then off into the second floor hall where he directs to the room he calls his.

It's devoid of the foreign statues and paintings, but then, it's empty of most things that might have been deemed personal for a teenage boy. No posters or team logos or magazines. The sheets were not themed, no old toys or relics of childhood, not even a television. Just clean and spotted with furniture matching the old English decorum of the house; accented in blues. And just like his personal room at Eton, he has a radio, but this includes an old record player on its table as well. There's an extensive collection of music gathered on bookshelves and on a few shelves over his desk are well over a couple dozen leather bound journals.  
  
Sitting not quite centered on the northern wall, in line of sight for both the bedroom and the bathroom doors is a bed big enough to be king. Ornate carvings on mahogany wood loom at the head above a collage of far too many pillows for one person. Four posts mark it’s corners, standing 7 feet in height at the very least, framing a hollow canopy ceiling but if ever there were curtains hanging from it, there are none now.  It’s stands high off the floor, as old frames in noble houses tend to do. Cream and dark blue covers with damask embroidery neatly tucked, freshly made for his return. At the foot is a little cream and mahogany bench, almost but not quite perfectly matched.

Sebastian goes for the wardrobe first of all, already peeling his coat tails off and tossing them on the back of a chair. Then he's going through layers; waistcoat, stick-up, braces, white button up- there are flecks of blood around the collar that pause his attention momentarily and then quickly go ignored. When the wardrobe doors open, it's brimming. A shirtless Sebastian disappears inside of it briefly.

\---

Jim looks around at Sebastian's room when they enter, shuffling here and there looking at the music collection or the shelves of journals. He runs his hands over the leather spines and is curious to read them. Sebastian is a good writer and even if Jim ripped out and burned his story, he'll always remember it. He glances at the older boy as he strips, watching him vanish into a closet that holds so many clothes it's shameful.

Jim wanders over to the bed and climbs onto the mattress, really has to climb actually because the thing is so fucking high up. But it looks so comfortable and Jim wants to try out something nicer than lumpy blankets and motel beds. It's soft, so soft and he curls on the duvet and hums and faces the closet to wait for Sebastian to re-emerge.

\---

Sebastian surfaces the collective of years with items over his bad arm, peeling the top two off and dropping them on the back of the chair with half his uniform. By now, bruises are faded away entirely and his tan skin is nothing but soft tone and the lingering remnants of the mark left by Jim on his neck. He approaches the bed, kneeing the cushioned bench and leaning over, elbowing the mattress as he sets down the second set.

"Probably still big on you but there's a mess of stuff in there from a couple years ago. You can raid it if you want."

Because he knows Jim's things were strewn about and lost... and that it was his fault. But Sebastian was doing very well not thinking about that at all. There were better things to keep in his mind- Jim in his lap. Jim at the piano. Jim pressed close. A kiss for a telescope.

What he set down was a simple thermal and sleeper pants for later. It gets cold at night, because a fire only heated so much of a large room and the house has never been outfitted with running heat.

\---

As Sebastian approaches, Jim's eyes travel down his tanned form, noting the lack of blemishes and bruises, save for the nearly faded mark Jim sucked and bit into his throat. Its a feeling of satisfaction that it's only Jim there now and the brunet will make sure it stays that way.

As Seb speaks of sharing his wardrobe, and letting Jim wear his old clothing he's grown out of, Jim raises an eyebrow. He hates charity, it's just pity really, but it is Sebastian's fault he has no clothes of his own. So its not so much of a hand out as it is a repayment of a debt. He nods and runs his hands over the soft sleep clothes. It won't do to change into them before dinner, but he knows they are there, and Sebastian is taking care of him again and its so sweet and maybe, just maybe this will work.

He looks up at Sebastian again, and there's hesitation, he's gotten so much today, but he still wants....no, he _needs_....

"I had some things to make a star chart... poster board, markers, that sort of stuff. I wanted to map out the sky above your house. Do you think we could get those sort of things?"

\---

"Absolutely."

No hesitation there, just a nod of blond and he lifts elbows off the bed, stepping over to the desk where he fingers the surface and plucks open a drawer to find a pen and a small notepad half filled with almost nonsensical notes. Ideas, if you were clever and each one seems to be largely it's own, or a page was dedicated only to one idea and many tiny notes sprawling even the margins. The controlled chaos of Sebastian's thoughts.

He takes the book to Jim and plops it on the bed. "Write down what you need. I'm sure Nigel's down stairs reporting to _Sir Augustus_. We'll make him _fetch_."

There's a familiar tone of mockery but it's laced with amusement. He returns to dressing out of his uniform.

\---

Jim takes the notebook and flips through the pages with interest- he'll read the notes, just like he'll read every one of those leather bound volumes that sit on the shelf. But now, he's got other tasks to take up his time, like making his list. And watching Sebastian undress out of the corner of his eye.

He's never really been a sexual creature. People don't appeal to him like that, there's too much hate bottled up inside of him and it frequently comes bubbling out in a volcanic eruption. But Sebastian is different from everyone else and he manages to draw his attention. He's fit after all, a bronzed Adonis. He's the sort people swoon over in cinemas, but enough of his personality shines through to give him an edge. As as much as Jim would love to claim otherwise, that charming grin with too many teeth makes it so hard to hate Sebastian like he hates the rest of the world.

Jim's no wild beast though and he manages to finish his list without doing something so gauche as attacking Sebastian in a fit of sexual conquest. Truth is, Jim wouldn't know what to do anyways. He knows where everything is leading and that's sort of intimidating. He pushes it out of his mind for now and marks down more items, this time adding things he couldn't scrounge from science and art labs.

\---

Sebastian steps in and out of the room in the next few minutes and each time he seems to gain or lose something on his person. His uniform gathers on the chair as he drifts back and forth from the wardrobe and the washroom, half his time spent just putting his uniform together on a hanger to be dry cleaned. When he takes off his uniform shoes, there are spots on the fine leather shine, dulled red splotches he pretends he can't see.

Eventually he does get another shirt on, landing him in denim and the not so common button up. He sits on the edge of the chair and ties up a pair of boots that haven't seen much wear. Last of all is a glance into the wardrobe mirror when he slides his good hand through his hair and watches it mostly fall back to where it was.

He moves more leisurely when he returns to Jim and the bed for a progress report on that list.

\---

Jim has finished his list and he tears off the page, double checking everything on it before he hands it over to Sebastian. He stares at the older boy for a moment, then nods with approval. This is more the Sebastian that he's used to. After a moment, he climbs off the bed and wanders to the loo to have himself a wash, because he's sure there's still a bit of blood there and he should have remembered before but he was a bit distracted by everything around him.

Scrubbing his face clean vigorously with a bit of soap and water, Jim scowls at his reflection before turning around and drying off with a towel. Fingers are run through his hair, but it won't slick back, not without product. It seems to be eternally fluffy, and he's probably in need of a haircut but until he finds some scissors and does it himself that's not really a viable option.

He returns to the bedroom and moves over to Sebastian, once again letting him take the lead, as it's his house and Jim supposes he can be a proper guest for a few more hours at least because he really is starting to get hungry.

\---

While Jim washes up, Sebastian gives a glance over the list with an interested hum, scribbling a few extra things down. He sets the pad atop the desk and rummages his latest leather bound out of the pocket of his hanging tails to join it.

When Jim resurfaces, it's back downstairs for them and as they go, Sebastian bothers a little explaining because it may be nice to prepare Jim for what the boy is very likely not used to.

"The maids and the groundskeeper aren't here on weekends, Tuesday or Thursday. They're usually out by 6 or 7 in the evenings. Henry, the driver, is always here and so is Nigel, unless- obviously." He gives a little wave of dismissal as they are trekking down the stairs in no particular hurry.

"Aveline is here every day unless Augustus and I are both gone- she's the cook. You'll have to give her some idea of what you like so she can plan meals. I doubt you want meat and potatoes all week."

He glances back at Jim with a little grin as they round into the foyer and down the center hall, headed for dining and kitchen.

\---

Jim eyes that particular leather bound with extra interest; he's not vain enough to think Sebastian has been filling it up about him again but he is clever enough to know that he probably graces its pages, despite what happened the last time. Sebastian will expect him to rip them out and destroy them again and the thought brings his gaze swiveling around to look up at the older boy. What more does he write about in those books and what does he see in Jim that no one else does?

They are questions he will probably never voice. Jim falls in step behind Sebastian as they return downstairs, listening to the older boy describe the schedules of the house staff. So they'll never really be alone, because a closed door can only do so much. He wonders if Seb's father has already been called about his presence and what Jim is to them. They haven't exactly been intimate in plain view but even an idiot could read Sebastian's dopey smitten stare.

Jim shakes his head at Sebastian's mention of food. He doesn't like red meat, he eats it so little that it aggravates his stomach and makes him sick. And he'd rather fill up with veg and fruit than carbs that don't give him any vitamins. Jim has never been partial to junk food and avoids it when he can. It's not always an easy practice, since its cheap and he's poor.

"Alright," Is all he answers and without preamble, wanders into the kitchen to harass the cook- politely.

\---

When they step into the kitchen, its warm with use and Aveline is already there. She glances up and a smile beams and that is the most enthusiasm anyone has had thus far to Sebastian's arrival.

"Sebastian! Welcome home. And I heard we have a guest."

Her accent is undoubtedly native to France but it's thickness has toned down over the years. She's not quite middle aged but she's got gray streaking through medium brunette that she keeps tied back in a loose bun. Thicker in frame and barely taller than Jim, she's tending what looks like fresh beef- go figure.

"Aveline, this is Jim. And he is a picky eater." Sebastian grins and she smiles at Jim.

"Très bien! I am always up for the challenge."

Of the numerous staff that come and go on the estate, Aveline has been their chef since they settled back in London when he was a boy. She is a polite, if not submissive woman. Motherly in whatever way Sebastian allows her to be. Sometimes he does wonder if she stays only for his sake.

"I'll find Nigel." He says quietly and dips into the dining room.

\---

Jim does not care for women in particular. He has perhaps cultivated an aversion to them due to the unfortunate events surrounding his mother. Being friendly with one is a hardship and liking one is impossible But then that's true for most things and people, no matter what gender. Seeing motherly Aveline beaming up at Sebastian twists something in his stomach, that deeply buried longing that's so wrapped in hate it's made him violently adverse to the fairer sex.

And Sebastian slips away and leaves Jim with her and suddenly he's a little lost deer stuck in the headlights of an oncoming truck. He frets and takes a step back to follow Sebastian, but he was left here for a reason and he loathes appearing weak. He stares up at Aveline, who never wavers in her good natured smile and then Jim actually converses and it's probably more than he's ever said to Sebastian all at once, save for the stars.

"I eat mostly chicken...I like fish but it's harder to get in London without being fried. I like fresh fruits and vegetables...and I prefer tarts to treacles. And please don't be droll and assume I live off of potatoes and Guinness."

It's...not really pleasant, but it's not his usual vitriol. He can manage.

\---

Aveline chuckles softly to Jim's ending comment, amusement accenting the early age lines of her heart shaped face as she tilts her head up a bit coy and gives a nod.

"And I promise I am not all bread and wine."

She smiles again, moving away from her simmering dish towards one of the large refrigerators, looking thoughtful in the early stages of planning. "Now tell me..." Door open, she glances over her shoulder at Jim. "Sweet, sour, spicy? Hmm. Savory perhaps."

\---

Jim scowled at the back of her head, but moved to take a perch on the counter, heaving himself up on the polished marble as he watched her root through the icebox.

"God no. Don't drown everything in butter. Just keep fresh. No cream either."

Dairy was another thing that did not sit well with him. Denying himself so many things has left him intolerant to most sorts of food. It isn't really that he’s picky per se, he just has a horribly weak stomach from abusing it so much. Coffee is even too much for him, though, Sebastian's coffee tinted kiss had been very nice.

"Salads are your best bet, but if your roots are just aching to show themselves in your cooking, I suppose I can struggle through a bouillabaisse." Jim stares at the back of her head, boring through it with those dark black depths. "Provencal region isn't it? Classically trained...tried to follow in your father's footsteps. But France looks down on women chefs, so you left the country for Britain instead. Never got those Michelin stars, did you? Or else you wouldn't be some short order cook at the family's beck and call."

Jim tilts his head as he observes her, watching her turn around to meet that critical stare that never misses anything. "Sebastian likes you. It's genuine when he smiles at you." Jim curles his fingers over the edge of the counter till they are white knuckled. "I can tell when it's not."

\---

It's off-putting, isn't it? Jim's way of it. Aveline has paused, listening and doing nothing to hide the jabs she feels for reminders that hit true, nor the surprise of being so easily deconstructed by a young boy. When she does turn around, she looks half impressed and half perplexed by him. None of it was exactly insult, just truth. But then, most things people get upset about were just that- truth.

After a time, she nods in such a way that confirms with swallowed pride. "And I can see why he likes you." She shuts the door softly and moves to the secondary fridge to gather fresh vegetables.

"Sebastian is very frank and most people are not." A pause. "He likes things that are clever. Extraordinary."

Aveline begins selecting, humming softly on new thoughts.

\---

At that, Jim bristles. It is painfully obvious to him that Sebastian _likes_ him. As if that simpering school yard word could even begin to encompass any sort of actual depth of emotion. But to have it so blatantly worded as such in front of him is something very new. Aveline doesn't seem as stupid as most, she probably knows exactly what that sort of _like_ entails.

Jim knows this about Sebastian and he doesn't need someone else pointing it out to him. But when Aveline puts it to words, he has to chew at his lip. Clever. Extraordinary. Is that what he is to Sebastian then? The boys never vocalize much of anything. This, in the end, will probably be their downfall.

\---

Sebastian doesn't need to go very far to find Nigel because he's predictably just across the hall in the downstairs office. He pops his head in and finds the man writing at the desk; tall, in his 50s, salt and pepper hair kept short and pushed back. He dresses the part of upper class for what he’s paid.

"Ah, Sebastian, there you are. Welcome home."

There is little warmth in the tone of his voice, acknowledgement without sentiment. He shuts the booklet he writes in with a soft snap and Sebastian feels his mouth pulling into a scowl. He isn't so stupid as to believe the man did not hear Jim's earlier playing at the piano, surely Nigel was in the house and the sound carried to whatever room he’d been hiding in. Probably this one, in plain sight of the instrument. But if he so much as peeked to see the source, Sebastian never noticed.

The butler stands shortly thereafter, giving a curt tug to his suit jacket. Sebastian barely waits for him to get to the door before he's already leading back to the kitchen as they speak.

"Nigel." A flippant, busted hand. They cross the empty hall, the older man on heel.

“I understand you brought a guest home.” Nigel prompts conversation beyond tight greetings and Sebastian knows he’s fishing for information, hoping to better assess Jim’s presence at the manor. Sebastian sneers and while it can’t be seen from the back of his head, surely it’s in his voice.

“Have I _inconvenienced_ you?”

“You might have given us a bit of warning, perhaps.”

The way he says _us_ makes Sebastian’s jaw clench. As if he is also a guest in this house and he needs to act with extended courtesy to his hosts. They break past the dining room entryway.

“No. I wouldn’t.” Neither will he explain anything. Sebastian abruptly turns about face and in the movement, lifts his good hand with the list between fingers. Nigel halts short of running right into him, too familiar with this back and forth to be caught by it.

"I need you to get these. Tonight. As in now." Nigel reaches for the paper calmly, but Sebastian jerks it slightly and pauses. " _All of it_." And then hands it over.

A simple- "Of course." Because Sebastian is the heir and Nigel has little choice on the matter and maybe Sebastian likes to rub that in a little. Sebastian turns away from him just as swiftly; no explanations for that either.

A moment later, they step into the kitchen. Sebastian moves straight away to where Jim sits and pivots, resting an elbow on the counter in a lean and looking between them.

"Jim, this is our glorified butler, lord of the keep when the master is away. Nigel. Sir Augustus’s pigeon. And sometimes hole."

Nigel raises a disapproving brow at the jab but directs a bow of head to Jim. The neutrality in his voice practically grinds Sebastian’s teeth together.

"Ah, our guest. Welco-"

"You'll refer to him as James." Sebastian cuts him off. "In the notes as well?"

Nigel sighs softly. "Sebastian." And to this exasperation, the Moran heir smiles tight.

\---

Sebastian returns and Jim's eyes dart to him, then to the older man in tow. His brows furrow at Sebastian's description; it's crass and well, that's Sebastian. But Jim has a knot in his stomach wondering if that's what he'll be referred to one day. He is obviously not in the same class as the Moran family…

But that thought trickles away when Sebastian insists he be called James. Jim hates that name, but then again, can't stand for many people calling him Jim either. He'd rather go unnoticed, a shadow in people's sights and thoughts. And often does.

Jim frowns. He does not want someone else writing about him. One person is already exasperating.

"Has he written about many of your guests?" Jim asks flatly. He can't be the first guest Sebastian's had at home and he's not naive enough to think he's been the first anything in any sense of the word.

\---

Sebastian's eyes are on Nigel then and it's a stare being exchanged between them, one severe like a beast waiting to pounce and the other vaguely masking frustration with neutrality.

"I don't know." But it sounds like he does and it's almost a mocking drawl. "I don't have guests. I go out, they don't come in."

No, perhaps not the first guest. But for so long Sebastian was pingponged from place to place, home schooled. Friendless. Then it was Eton; boarding. And why on Earth would he ever want to bring someone _here?_ He already knew bringing Jim was a risk. The younger boy is so very clever and Sebastian clings silently to the hope that Jim continues believing he is just a privileged brat rebelling against his away-from-home father. That was a better picture, wasn't it?

He also knew that Nigel reported everything. If he drank half a bottle of vodka, his father would know. If he broke something, even accidentally, his father would know. If Sebastian spent a little much of his own account going out with Rugby mates over Holiday, his father knew. Was it supposed to be endearing? That his father spent so much time keeping tabs on his son? Because it wasn't.

But if Sebastian was going to say anything else, he doesn’t. His eyes find their way to Jim and whatever shadowed across his thoughts went silent.

Nigel waits expectantly of something and Aveline, behind them, pretends not to be in the room as she tends a salad of fresh vegetables for Jim. The rhythmic clink of her knife fills the space.

\---

Jim watches the exchange between the two, both the verbal and the unspoken. There's a plethora of knowledge to be had in the older man's face, but Jim's really more interested in reading Sebastian's. That's who matters in all this. Nigel's going to write about Jim yes, but he doesn't know him, while the blond boy to some extent, does.

Jim knows. What happens here, why Sebastian is bitter and why the staff here are so blindly loyal to the lord of the house. He may have never witnessed it and Sebastian will never tell him but he doesn’t need to. Jim knows because he's been through it himself. He knows the signs and he may have not had staff to act as a buffer or scurry away, but it's something he understands down to his very core. He's not going to say anything either because what are they going to do, bond and cry over it?

So Jim looks to Nigel, looks the man straight in the eyes and says, "I came in."

\---

Sebastian's eyes are still on Jim when he speaks, Nigel's now as well, who watches intensely for a moment as if trying to decipher the intent behind those words. Even Aveline glances up momentarily, the tension palpable. You could almost wonder if it would season the food.

At last, Nigel nods his head a bit low, giving a short, evenhanded reply. "So you have."

And for some reason, Sebastian's head snaps up and stares across the room at Nigel with nothing short of a glare. After another moment, he uses his good hand to gesture dismissively.

"The list, Nigel. Try to be quick." It’s disgustingly posh on his tongue and he almost hates himself for it.

"Of course." The butler nods his head before turning to step out into the dining room again. Sebastian watches him disappear with a scowl that sits isolated in a desert.

\---

Jim watches as Nigel leaves as well, waiting for the butler's presence to fade completely. He is obviously not well liked by Sebastian and there's a reason for it. He's no Aveline for sure, whose easy demeanor fits well with the older boy’s.

His gaze returns to Sebastian and that distant scowl just won't do. Jim has decided Aveline is decent and that’s why he reaches down from his perch on the counter top and takes Sebastian's face in his hands, pulling him over as Jim kisses his forehead.

He knows its enough of a shock to draw Sebastian out of his funk. This is obvious affection and not just in front of strangers. But that's why Jim does it- because Sebastian deserves it. He doesn't deserve to be miserable in his own home, to be treated like a decoration and a legacy rather than a person.

\---

It has the intended effect.

A breath is taken in and for a split moment brows raise in question. But his forehead is kissed and it's so very out of nowhere and unlike Jim that the initial reaction is just to blink and stare up at him in stunned silence.

A grin splits across his face just like that. Then he does what is probably the most dangerous thing he ever has, right alongside the first time he'd kissed Jim. He practically spins to get in front of the other boy and uses his good arm to snatch him up by the waist, hauling him up over his shoulder to carry him off from the counter.

\---

And just like that, Sebastian has committed a mortal sin. It must be so tempting to pick Jim up, as small as he is, and as big as Sebastian is. Jim looks delicate where Seb is strong, and while that may be physically the case, Jim is endlessly powerful. He does not need to be carried, nor does he want to be. He fits perfectly against the curve of Sebastian's shoulder and his weight is probably not a burden at all even with Sebastian's busted hand. It feels wonderful to be plastered against Sebastian like this, but pride is Jim's biggest fault, motivator and asset.

Punishment is swift.

His foot comes swinging down and slams right into Sebastian's groin, mercilessly. Sweet kisses on the forehead are a thing of the past and the result of the blow lets Jim slide down out of the older boy's grasp. He's to the counter in a second, grabbing a knife from the butcher block with a whisper of metal as it rasps from it's wooden confines. As Sebastian's doubled over in pain, Jim grabs a handful of his hair and jerks his head, kicking the back of his knees out at the same time so he crumples to a kneel. With his throat exposed and Jim now towering over him, the brunet presses the knife to Sebastian's throat, and his cold eyes are absolutely murderous.

This is not sleepy Jim, or star Jim, or Jim who sits at the piano and smiles. This is the Jim that so many kids are afraid of, that maimed five other boys into panicked silence and lasting debilitation before his wrath was put on hold for Sebastian. A flick of his wrist and Sebastian would be dead now, left to bleed out over the kitchen floor of the house he hated so much, before he ever got to escape it.

"Never again." Jim hisses, fingers tight in the older boy's fair hair.

\---

It's sort of a daze. A lot of a daze. Actually, it's so quick he can hardly grasp what’s happened and neither can Aveline because she’d turned away to fetch plates. One moment there is a smile and the next, violent pain.

Sebastian is abruptly on his knees. Spots of blinding red and black flicker across his eyes, disorienting him when his head jerks back so fast, exposing his neck as something cool and sharp presses to it. Already it bites at the flesh if he so much as breathes- which is a task considering his heart is suddenly hammering and lungs are burning with the desire to gasp for air.

And how Sebastian knows he's fucked is that when he looks up at Jim, flares of coloring clearing from his vision, he isn't afraid. Not the way you're supposed to be. Yes, the rush of cold death creeping across the skin is there, but he does not fear it for the pain or the loss of some ambivalent future. He thinks of Jim. Of Jim being angry, of Jim leaving. Of leaving Jim. It’s a little harder to swallow because suddenly, there's something to be afraid for at all.

And if he wasn't doubled in searing pain already, the blood might have rushed to the very area. Because he's sick. Because he's probably mental. Because there are more things wrong with him than can be counted on two hands; But maybe four.

There's a long moment where he's trying to hold his breath and his body trembles from the pain as it spreads violently through the nerves, but his eyes are locked on Jim's absolutely murderous expression. Aveline comes around the counter where they’ve all but disappeared and gasps Sebastian's name when she sees them, hands drawing up to her mouth in startle. Sebastian's bad hand lifts up and gestures her to stay back, to quiet, but his eyes don't leave Jim.

Finally, he manages a breathless agreement. "Never again."

\---

Jim hears the cook gasp but he doesn't pull his attention off of Sebastian. She'd be smart to heed Sebastian's warning, because yes, Jim has an iota of respect for her, but at the moment, that doesn't matter and he'd gut her with one swift flick of his wrist and never regret it.

When Sebastian agrees, it's the smartest thing he's ever done, because snark would have put him in the ground. Or more appropriately, ashes, because Jim would burn down the entire manor in his wake afterwards. The small Irish boy stares down at Sebastian for a few more beats, then he lifts the knife away and flings it into a cabinet where it lodges deep into the wood, all without ever pulling his sight away from the blond.

"Good boy."

And he lets go of Sebastian's hair, pulling his hand back and straightening up, attention finally shifting to Aveline- daring her to say anything.

\---

Those moments are long and intense in the exchange, blue to abysmal black lingering over life or death. But Jim seems to be a merciful god, if only on occasion. The knife slips away and Sebastian doesn't move his throat when he inhales.

Aveline lets out a cry of startle which goes muffled when the knife jams into a cabinet, her hands tightening against her mouth. Her eyes are wide and vivid green, fixated on Jim as he turns her way in challenge.

She doesn't move but Sebastian does. His plastered arm finally drops weighted to his side and his good one stems to the chilled tile floor, gritting teeth and swallowing down the pain which circulates. Aveline's eyes flicker downward to him, worry clear and bright and it's obvious that the thing she's most afraid for is the blond on his hands and knees.

\---

Jim looks back down at Sebastian as he crumples forward. He has Aveline to worry and fawn over him, so the brunet leaves because this aftercare and babying is not his thing. It's like Sebastian offering up crisps in the car and unsure of the outcome. There is nothing Jim can do now that the burst of hatred and anger came to the surface. He can do nothing but let it diffuse out of him until it's gone from his system or this whole house is going to suffer.

Jim leaves the kitchen and heads back to the piano in the foyer, pushing up the cover and sitting upon the bench as his hands press into the keys. The music is utter chaos, birthed from his fingertips and head in an amalgamation of dark, frightening beauty. It’s a release before the snarling black surfaces in other, much more violent ways. Jim no longer cares about dinner or even telescopes. His small chest is heaving and he needs this outlet before he explodes.

\---

Jim steps out of the kitchen and disappears with Sebastian turning his head just slightly to watch the boy's feet until they are no longer in his line of vision. It takes another minute of heat hanging in the air before Aveline moves, suddenly hurrying over to Sebastian and lowering down to him, but he brings his plastered hand up again between them as if to insist she keep her distance.

"Sebastian, what is going on?" She insists and reaches out to touch his shoulder with both hands.

Sebastian swallows, eyes screwed shut and it's mildly excruciating but he doesn't want the comfort because the damage is not external. "It's fine, Aveline. Don't worry."

"It is not fine! He could have kil-" Music sucks the air out of her words. The piano begins to fill the house again, slamming into doorways and barreling through corridors, vibrating through the rooms like a wicked storm. It's Jim's lovely little hands on the keys, rapid and chaotic; untamed. And Sebastian hates it.

After the startle passes and the unsettling melody has clamored into the kitchen like a death whisper, Aveline looks down at Sebastian again and reaches one arm around his shoulder, leaning in and pressing her forehead to its curve. He's still heaving a breath or two, trying to calm the nerves and simmer the adrenaline. He wants her to let go but he doesn’t have the will to push away.

"Sebastian, that boy is dangerous-"

" _I'm_ dangerous, Aveline." He cuts her off and both look up at one another. She seems startled, but almost... almost as if she knew that already. As if she could possibly. Fear long ago sewn trickles through her expression and she tries to cover it back over with denial. She starts to shake her head but Sebastian reaches up to wrap fingers around her wrist. It isn’t forceful, he doesn’t push her hand away from his shoulder, but the grip is neither tender.

"Trust me. I'm fine." Insistence. And it hurts more to hear music than it does to know he's bruising because marks on his body he knows. Marks on his heart are foreign wounds.

"Je ne comprends pas." (I don't understand) Aveline speaks after another lingering tick of silence, reaching desperately to keep him from shutting her out, reading the face she was so familiar with but the expression is estranged.

"I..." He pauses, taking a breath and flattening his tone. "Tu ne peux pas comprendre." (You can't.)

Her expression softens in a way, maybe because he responds in her natural tongue, maybe because his tone is so final. Sebastian sits up, shrugging her arm off his shoulder. The woman retracts herself in response, leaving only one hand which squeezes a muscled upper arm, but Sebastian pulls her wrist away before releasing it. He's still taking deeper breaths than natural but his face walls off into calm.

"Pack dinner away. Go home." It’s an order.

After hesitation watches him, she nods and gets to her feet, wringing her hands as she moves back into the kitchen. She knows the difference between stubbornness and absolute, allowing it to ward her away on command. Her eyes flick to the knife embedded in expensive wood. Sebastian is slow to his feet. He's listening to the music and it's almost as if his blood pulses to it's sound, completely unsteady. Agitated. This isn't angry Jim who is conflicted, who stays, who mashes their mouths together unexpectedly. It's just anger. And as twistedly beautiful as the sound is, Jim angry at him is a knife wound all it's own. Notes jam their fingers into his skin like needles. His hands are shaking when he glances down at them.

Sebastian disappears between glances.

\---

Jim's fingers feel broken as they skim across the keys. There's no real rhythm or direction to the music he plays, if it can be called that, but it peels away layers of anger from its tight wrap around him. He should have known it was only a matter of time before everything soured again. Jim's temper could not be kept in check and it had manifested so suddenly and dangerously.

He's sure now, sure that it's too much, that whatever benefits Sebastian sees in Jim will no longer outweigh the stifling fact that Jim is not beneficial in anyway. He'll be thrown out and he deserves it. He'll never see the stars through the telescope, never wake up next to Sebastian in the blond's own bed. The clothes don't matter, aren't even on his mind. Just the fuck-ups and the fact he's ruined a fledgling something before it ever spread out its wings and ruffled them under the sun and sky. And that's fine. Jim can deal with that because he has to. Really, its not fine, but as his fingers still on the keys finally, he convinces himself it has to be.

\---

In the time of playing, with the house so eerily filled with rampageous music when it is usually so quiet, Sebastian has vanished. Aveline, after cleaning up the kitchen in a hurry, takes the side door of the manor to avoid passing through the main hall where she would be unable to avoid Jim. The maids too seem to disperse and the house is, in an utter rarity, empty but for the pair of them.

The front door opens twice. Footsteps can be heard on the stairs above the piano as many times.

Down at the end of the great center hall which leads to a set of glass panel doors to the garden, a light is turned on as the sky grows dark. Sebastian sits in a chair under the chandelier glow of the veranda and handles brass in his hands, using a cloth to wipe down the dust and polish some of the tarnish on the body of the telescope. It'll have to be cleaned professionally someday. The tripod it calls home sits waiting its turn by the side of his chair.

No one bothers Jim.

\---


	10. We Are Just Stardust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing's forever.
> 
> The story of Moriarty and Moran, from the very beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This will be updated every Saturday!**
> 
> Thanks to [Hippano](http://hippano.tumblr.com/) for her lovely beta and art~!

Jim is oblivious to the world around him as he plays, the same as before. But as he stops, the silence of reality sinks in around him like a heavy mist. Aveline was so shocked; he'd assaulted a young lord and there is no way that someone who cares so much about the blond boy wouldn't call on the authorities to protect him.

Jim has already set it in his mind he will not suffer the indignity of being kicked out. Being thrown into a police car is not appealing either. Jim climbs to his feet and looks around, getting his bearings again. There is no sign of anyone and a clear line to the entrance just feet away. He has nothing to claim, luggage lost before this holiday had even really begun. He steels himself with a shaky breath and moves to the doors, jerking one open to find they are unlocked.

He'd really hoped that he would have lasted more than one day.

\---

The music stops and so do Sebastian's hands.

The garden doors are cracked open, allowing him to hear the sound as it echoes through the main corridor. The silence of the last key plunges the house back into an unsettling calm that Sebastian hates more than he does the angry notes of Jim’s abandoned playing. Quickly, he sets the brass telescope into his seat, moving to the doors.

The grand hall is lined with faux oil lamps, glowing a yellowish light leading into the well lit foyer. He can see Jim moving to the entrance, not a glance around to indicate he was checking for anyone. Not even Sebastian.

He’s going to leave? To what? Walk home hours away with nothing in his hands in the middle of the night? Can he even find his way without getting lost in the countryside? Was Jim so angry he couldn't stand to be here anymore? Over one stupid thing he’d done?

His heart is suddenly pounding in his ears. Sebastian takes off down the hall after Jim with the speed that put him in rugby.

\---

Jim barely steps past the portico when Sebastian comes barreling down the corridor with enough speed that it would be difficult to stop without slamming into him. In the quiet he can hear the thud of boots on hard marble, one half of the double doors left open for a clear path. Is Sebastian planning on forcibly keeping Jim here until the police arrive?

The Irish boy tenses up and braces himself for impact, rapidly running through all the points of escape in his head.

\---

Only at the start does he need that burst of speed to get across the entire straightaway through the center of the house. Sebastian slows just in time to lose momentum as he breaks past the front doors, stopping so sharply in Jim's personal space that he practically bounces a step back to keep from ramming into him. He reaches for Jim's arm but the grip he takes on it is not a demanding one, speaking before his lungs have chance enough to take a breath.

"Where are you going?"

It comes out hurriedly. The look on his face must be alarm. He's certain that Jim's intent is to leave and if he does, Sebastian has a horrid knot in the pit of his being that he will never see him again.

Has he ruined it?

\---

Jim flinches as Sebastian reaches out and grabs a hold of him. Yet it's not forceful and Jim stares down at the fingers curled around his arm, almost fully. He tilts back up to look at the older boy's face but it's not angry or vengeful, just confusion and desperation.

Jim is at a loss.

"...I don't know." And Jim hates not knowing something. He doesn't know everything, he can't possibly. But he's been trying every moment he can, to learn the world before he leaves it. Sebastian Moran is something he can't possibly understand.

\---

Sebastian doesn't let his arm go, staring perplexedly in trying to make sense of Jim's ever turbulent emotions. He doesn't seem angry now, not like the piano. Because it wasn't the cold stare that convinced him, murderous as it was. It wasn't the first time Jim had ever threatened him... in fact, it was a running theme every time they met. But the music, the tempo, the chaos- they were angry and he could feel it like a violent overspill. Something he couldn't bare to watch. Just now, Jim is all but a mystery. No melody to give him away.

Sebastian is also at a loss.

They both stand there uncertain, frozen in their separate but singular effort to understand one another. After batting back and forth in his head trying to figure out what was going on, because obviously asking and talking about it was far too bloody much for the pair of them, he simply tries to coax Jim back inside.

"Well, come on then. The telescope isn't going to stare at itself."

\---

Jim blinks and stares, his heart stuttering and pounding. He doesn't know what from though, how to catalog what is happening inside of him and put it to words. Or even thoughts. But Seb isn't calling the police, he doesn't want Jim to leave. There hasn't been some irreparable tear between them, even though Jim can admit this was definitely too far.

Jim nods and moves past Sebastian, pulling free of his grip as he heads back into the manor for the telescope that awaits him. On the highest step of the entryway, he pauses and turns, standing as tall as the blond for once. Jim stares at him for another moment, then reaches out and draws his fingertips across Sebastian's throat, tracing the thin red line where the knife had been pressed. Without a word, he draws back towards the house. Because he really hadn't wanted to leave. So thankfully Sebastian is fucked up.

\---

It worked, somehow. Jim seems to accept his suggestion, a silent agreement to put it aside; whatever this was. Jim moves first and Sebastian turns to follow, halting again when the Irish boy pauses to face him. Question writes itself across his face another time, softer than before.

Under the draw of Jim's smooth fingertips, he swallows lightly. It's impossible to tell what it means, to either of them, and each half of the dangerous equation seems content not to clarify. Seb lingers there just a touch longer, watching Jim pass through the doors before he moves after him.

In his wake, he pulls the front door shut and quiet yet again descends around them. Nigel has not yet returned from his errand, which means Henry is out as well. It leaves them alone, at least for a short while.

Even though Jim is ahead, Sebastian gestures down the grand hallway he'd just run through, where the glass doors to the garden veranda can be seen under a glow at the opposite end of the house.

"It's on the garden patio."

\---

Jim is strangely subdued in his motion, jerkily moving where indicated. He walks back to the veranda doors they had come through when they first arrived, stepping out onto the patio. His gaze first rises to the the night sky beyond the garden, where dusk has settled and the stars haven't quite woken up, but they'll be here soon. The usual glow of the city lights is long gone and its promising for stargazing, no clouds or fog rolling in.

Jim moves to the telescope that's been set aside in Sebastian's rush to get to him. The blond had been cleaning it, a shine to the brass under the yellow light and Jim's heart beats faster, rattling the small ribcage inside his torso. His hands press to his cheeks for a moment as he calms breathing that threatens to make him hyperventilate....

Sebastian really, truly likes Jim to the point he doesn't care about threats to his life. It’s fucked up beyond reason but Jim will take it.

He draws in another deep breath and then reaches out, touching the oiled leather and cool metal reverently, then scoops it up and carries it out further into the garden, towards a clearing on the lawn where he starts to set it up.

\---

He's got no idea what's going on in that head but it doesn't appear negative and that suits Sebastian fine. When the other boy plucks up the telescope, he reaches for the tripod and trails after him with a little smile, curious but mostly just relieved that tension has passed.

Because Sebastian really does like Jim. This wasn't the first time his life was threatened although it may have been the most dangerous because in this instance, there was no loophole that Sebastian could have stopped him if he'd wanted. But would he? If he could have...

The grim truth is probably not something he'll sit and think on. That moment will haunt Aveline but the thing that will stick loudest in Sebastian's mind are the hands on ivory in chaotic melody. It's a reminder: Never again.

\---

Jim waits for Sebastian to bring the stand to him, then begins to set up the scope, fastening it to its legs. He leans down and peers through the eyepiece, touching the dials and adjusting the calibration to get the best focus. During this, the tension and anger have completely melted away. Its replaced with absolute fascination and exploration.

He's silent and focused for a long time, until he finally has what he wants in sight. He pulls back and looks up at the sky and it's gorgeous. The stars are bright and reflect in his dark eyes till the same sky above swims through his gaze as if its filled with his own galaxy. Jim is a world, a universe all himself. The longing with which he stares at the sky above is an almost physical thing.

\---

It's an utter roller coaster, being around Jim. Being involved with him- whatever you might call it. He flickers so quickly through these parts of himself that he just barely gives a glimpse of each and they are so thoroughly masked it is difficult to give them a proper name. But Sebastian is convinced, because he's vain enough to do so, that he is the only one to see these particular moments. This is star Jim. A boy fascinated with the endless universe beyond.

Sebastian waits quietly between watching Jim and watching the sky, not disturbing him from his fixation, just as he did not bother him on the piano. Jim doesn't need him here, but he stays nearby because it's Sebastian's fixation to watch him. As if Jim was his universe and the endless twinkle of stars exists in more than just reflection.

\---

Jim may not need him here in this moment, but he doesn't forget Sebastian. He breaks away from the world above and returns to the one below, turning to beckon the blond over. He points to the telescope, imploring him to look through the eyepiece.

The view is focused on a bright, disjointed line of stars, that in no way make the shape of a ram unless you are squinting and perhaps hallucinating.

"Aries...right? You're in the sky too...above me as well as beside."

Jim sits on the ground beside the telescope stand, then stretches out on the grass and stares up into the sky, taking it all in as a whole. "Teegarden's star is the closest. A brown dwarf, about 12 light years away. That star was found to have a very large proper motion of about 5 arcseconds per year. Only seven stars with such large proper motions are currently known. Out of endless millions... it's special."

\---

Following the gesture, Sebastian peers through the telescope quietly, having to lean because he's tall and these things never are really. Perhaps they should fetch a lawn chair.

For now he views the sky above with a different clarity than eyes alone can see and he scours the collective of stars trying to find what Jim sees. More than just little lights in deep black space, but the wonder and marvel that keep him so captivated. Jim speaks at length again about the stars and Sebastian finds himself glancing away from the eyepiece to the boy on the grass beside by tails end.

"I may have understood half of that." A confession with a smile.

\---

"Then you're only half useless," he says with an amused tone. Sebastian looks lovely against a backdrop of stars and he reaches out for the blond, beckoning him over. The telescope is nice, it means the world to him, but mending things with Sebastian is so much more important.

"Come here Sebastian, lay with me and I'll attempt to educate you properly."

\---

One of those airy little laughs bubbles out of him. Jim beckons him again and it's not often he hears his name in that Irish lilt. Sebastian straightens and watches for a second, reveling quietly in that accent touching syllables said in so many voices and yet none quite so right.

"Fives years at Eton and finally a decent education."

He moves to join Jim on the grass, using his good hand to catch his weight so he can lay out next to the other on his back. But before Jim can go into further details, Seb finally has to ask a question that may have, on any other day, gone silent.

"How did you know? Aries."

\---

Jim does not let Sebastian just lay on the grass, he catches the other boy's arm and pulls him closer so that the older boy's head is laying on his small chest. Thin fingers slide through sun streaked gold and he pets Sebastian as if placating an unruly beast. Jim is under no delusions that he is tamed, but coaxing him to relax against the very person who nearly slit his throat is perhaps possible.

Its a guilty pleasure; Astrology is not exactly a true science, but it has to do with stars and the alignment of planets and therefore Jim loves it. He religiously checks his horoscope, even if he has to steal the paper to do it. Biting his lip for a moment, he hesitates, then launches into his memorized explanation.

"Aries men move through the world on the their own terms and at their own pace. That is a major reason why some people find it too challenging to keep up with them. They are always ready for adventure and excitement, and they love surprises because they keep them engaged and mentally stimulated. Anything predictable or strictly abiding dampens their spirits. At first, they may come across as selfish and self-centered, but there does exist a generous side- well, it is a different thing that they show it to only those who they think are worthy. Aries don’t spend their precious time whining about how the world has been unfair to them or such nonsense. And even if they do, they will quickly bounce back. It is their courage, enthusiasm, positivity and love for their nearest of heart, which gives them immense strength to face the challenges of life. However, they tend to be outspoken, overconfident, and at times, quite insensitive. But they are so single mindedly loyal it's frankly quite staggering. "

Jim's hand stills in the blond boy's hair, focused on the stars above them. "And that's all you, isn't it?"

\---

There's something about a hand slipping through his hair which makes him sigh quietly. If you can ease a large beast, that is a very good start. Jim is good with with the unpredictable, both violent and tender. And strangely adept at lulling Sebastian into the kind of calm that pacifies his restlessness. It's a change for him to be the one laying against the other but he's practically a cub in gently tilting into the hand which runs through smooth, thick blond.

Jim explains. It's a very long deconstruction of a personality which could be taken as so very general and in reality, it surely didn't apply to everyone under his birth sign because fate did funny things to people. But there it was and Jim was right. That was Sebastian, whether he recognized it fully or not. It's a little funny to be told who you are. Perhaps that's why so many are indignant about it.

The hand has stopped and he wishes it hadn't. Sebastian inclines his head a little to look towards Jim.

"You'll have to confirm."

\---

At that, Jim rolls his shoulders in a shrug. The fingers continue their drag, soothing across Sebastian's scalp, and the act is as calming for Jim as it is to the boy laying on him.

"I already know."

And he does. Jim has seen all these traits and more, and they mesh together to form the man Sebastian Moran is growing into. He only has to look at a person and he can read a story that is never written or spoken. But he hasn't just looked at Sebastian. He's seen him. He’s been at his side and pressed against him and throttled him within an inch of his life and Sebastian is always still there. It may be obsession and it may be foolish, but it's something inside of the older boy that shines through him, like words scrawled over his skin.

Sebastian can't say the same for Jim. He knows next to nothing. He can't break down the small Irish boy into neatly labeled boxes because Jim isn't human. He's a beast of chaos and there is no predicting or knowing him. He's not a man and he'll never grow into one. There are certain things that can be gleaned from within the black snarls, but as a whole, Jim will forever be abstract.

"I know you, Sebastian."

\---

"I am not the puzzle."

He speaks a quiet truth. Next to Jim, he is an open book which the younger boy does not need to flip through pages to read. Perhaps others were not so observant that they could piece him together this way. He is broken up into parts, sectioning off small alcoves of himself and leaving only the loudest pieces to be presented. The funny thing is that he makes no secret of the masks he wears and yet they still don’t recognize them as a second face. Jim may know more than Sebastian wants to admit but he has yet to know everything. Still, he is hardly the complex amalgamation of secrets and barriers that Jim has built himself to be.

This may never be mutual. He senses that even now, in the way Jim speaks and says his name again. This puzzle could take a lifetime to piece together and silently, he commits himself to the endless pursuit. Sebastian sighs again and it is weighted, hands folding on top of his chest.

"So. Where are you?"

One piece at a time.

\---

No, he's not. Not to Jim. But Sebastian has never once tried to hide himself from the younger boy. He's made his intentions clear from the very day he cornered Jim and kissed the viper, struck by venomous fangs as a consequence. But that venom hasn't killed him. It just made him stronger.

It's a clever way to ask. Jim doesn't divulge information. He doesn't talk about himself and there isn't much written in records for anyone to find because he has deleted or destroyed whatever he discovers. Jim is a ghost and there is no trail left in his wake; except Sebastian. It's closer than anyone has come to knowing the wisp of life that he is.

So Jim points, raising the hand that's not in Seb's hair, tracing the night sky where the twin constellation makes its presence above them. "Castor and Pollux. I'm full of planetary nebulae and meteor showers. Full of dead stars and yet the power to create life among them. Constant contradiction."

\---

"Castor and Pollux?" Sebastian repeats with recognition and interest, following the direction of Jim's gesture. He stares intently to find the tiny dots which stand out amongst Jim's sky- but it is not so easy for him to recognize amongst the great collective. "Dioscuri. The Gemini."

Because he isn't totally useless, he does remember what he studies. After nearly a lifetime of Latin as a prerequisite of Eton, he would be a disappointment if he did not recognize the twins. Not to mention all the reading he's done to entertain himself as a boy. Cleverness is rewarded with an answer, so he asks another more directly, to see if Jim will bother to answer.

"And the date?"

\---

Jim hums in agreement, and Sebastian has indeed pleased him with his knowledge. Jim admires cleverness above all things; it doesn't have to necessarily be knowledge or book smarts. But the fact Seb is learning to navigate around Jim's eccentric nature is as thrilling as it is worrying. He knows how to step around land mines, even though he doesn't take the safety measures.

"20th of May. I'm on the cusp with Taurus." Sebastian will never get a year. He will never get a proper age. It's obvious Jim is younger and for all Sebastian knows, this could be illegal and fucking Jim will land him in jail. It is impossible to pinpoint due to his small frame and the depth of those dark eyes.

The weight of Sebastian's head is heavy atop his heart, which thuds in a slow, relaxed pace beneath the other boy.

\---

He doesn't need a year. A month and day are just fine, removing his necessity to celebrate the entire season of Gemini- and he would have, fully expecting Jim to hate him for it.

Perhaps he didn't know Jim's age but he could guess, clues and context as guidance. And it didn't really matter. If being around Jim got him into some kind of trouble, so be it. If this somehow labeled him a creep, because he would turn 18 in a short month, well... He wasn't terribly concerned for it. Who was really going to report to the authorities about them? Parents who didn’t seem to care enough that Jim disappeared for a week? And surely no one at the estate. Jim's age may have been decidedly younger but his mind was ancient and it was hard to think of him as being a child until he lay sleeping and curled up like one.

"I'll remember that." He breathes slow and calm, feeling the rise and fall of Jim's small torso, letting it lead his own rhythm. It's relaxing and the night remains peacefully quiet for them.

"Tell me about the others." He prompts Jim to continue his lessons and Sebastian does his best to keep up, connecting his scattered knowledge together with Jim's. He is not a sluggish learner, but the world of stars is still greatly new to him and there is much to catalogue.

\---

The grass is cool and soft below him while Sebastian's body keeps him warm enough that it chases the night chill away. This won't last for much longer, but they have another hour or so before it sinks into his bones; it’s a mild night for winter. But for now, he is content to point out the rest of the twelve constellations and their primary stars, expanding on Sebastian's knowledge by offering his input. It's not condescending, he never once berates the older boy for not knowing. Softly, he explains those glittering balls of gas and the world they form over head.

It's maybe midnight and Jim hasn't stopped shifting his fingers through Sebastian's hair, though the digits move downwards to occasionally drag down a cheek or cup that strong jaw in a spidery caress. He has become cold now, because this position does not see Sebastian wrapped around him to chase away the cold. He sighs and takes his hand away finally, his sternum numb from the constant weight, but the tingle is nice so he can't complain.

"Let's go inside...I'm cold, and you're probably hungry."

\---

The cold makes Sebastian tired, it always has, to a point where real heat makes it difficult to sleep as it combats his natural warmth. He is dangerously lulled into a drowsy state by the combination of Jim's fingers running through his hair and soft Irish lilt speaking at length. His hand is so cold but his caress is so soft. It's a harsh contrast to the grip in his hair and the blade to his throat.

Sebastian manages to stay awake by energetic will, although his body by now is lead and his fingers stiff from being folded for so long. He's learned a great deal that he may struggle to remember all of but that's an excuse to hear it again another night. When Jim suggests they retreat to the warmer house, Sebastian takes a deep breath.

"You need to eat as well." Spoken as a suggestion and yet as if knowing Jim would go on pretending not to care for it. He sits up and takes a moment to let his body adjust.

\---

As Sebastian sits up, the cold seeps into Jim immediately and he's freezing. He rubs at his chest, chasing away the numbness and climbing to his feet, over to the telescope to gather it up. Tomorrow night he'll start his chart, when he has his supplies. For now, he was content to just see them with his own eyes, without the pollution and lights masking them. London was as much a mask for the stars as it was for Jim himself.

He tucks the telescope under his arm and leaves the stand for Sebastian like before.

"I'll eat." He starts for the house, eager to return to it's warmth, though he had to admit, the sleepy lull of Sebastian had been...appealing. Cute even, should he wish to stretch. "If you tell me a story."

\---

He gets to his feet as well and catches his hand on the telescope legs, nudging it to fold together with his bulky wrist more than the fingers of it's half plastered hand. He trails for the house and raises brows as Jim makes a proposal.

"A story?" He questions. It's another surprise.

\---

Jim is in the house before he speaks again, setting his prize down on a padded divan gently. He dusts off his hands and looks back to the older boy, who hasn't quite chased the sleep from his features, and Jim was wrong. It's not cute, it's adorable. Jim really had to make an effort to stay in bed and watch Sebastian wake up next time.

"A story. You're a writer. You write well. I want to hear a story. Make it up if you have to. The world needs more storytellers, it's such a bleak place."

\---

Sebastian sets the tripod down next to the telescope and stands looking over Jim thoughtfully. There’s a little noise at the back of his throat, eyelids heavy in his pensive, drowsy state. He gestures for Jim to follow, making their way to the kitchen as he considers. By now the main corridor lights are dimmed and the kitchen looms like a dark cave until he flicks the light on as they enter. The knife has been returned to the butcher block as if it never moved.

It's a strange request. One that no one has ever particularly asked of him because, well. It’s not the sort of talent mates much care to see exercised, is it? Everyone is far more concerned with Rugby achievements and what college you’ll attend, not why. Surely Augustus didn’t care for it. He practically spat on the fact he wasted so much time with his nose in those journals. A pointless hobby, Sebastian.

The only time he made a show of his ability was the necessity of assignments. He was usually praised by the Masters but it went no further than the staff because his physical ability was sooner the highlight of his school career over his mental acuity. Writing is a dreamer's hobby. A thinker. Not the solid, toned boy predestined for service to the Queen.

As he takes out the food, a salad of some kind for Jim and a red meat dinner he begins to warm on the stovetop, Sebastian seems to find an answer for Jim on the subject of stories. It isn't a terribly long one and he pauses now and again to recall his words. Some spaces are filled in as he goes because the story is so fractured and unfinished in the pages of his latest journal.

"In a place which is beyond us, if you were to cross our grand universe on a boat as if it were the sea, there is a kingdom of creatures who covet above all else grand naiveté. They seek to keep their minds as pure to birth and without taint as can be achieved while growing into a man, for they believe this is the highest level of euphoria a man may know. And euphoria is as close to creation as man may reach. They teach their sons and daughters to be blind and deaf, to play endlessly for their lifetimes as children would, forever concerned of their own desires and not of their precedent.

“The King, above all, desires to know absolutely nothing of his people and his kingdom. He shuts his eyes and blocks his ears and does not go out of his castle home. But still he is King, because the men of power and wealth are those who covet his grand unknowing. When they learn of things by incident, or discover them by natural science, they speak not to their King nor each other- for it will show their hand of knowledge, which is greatest amongst humiliation.

“The King has a son, the Prince, and he is a boy of bright mind and wondrous heart which refuses to be trapped within the confines of foolishness. He ventures out of the castle to see the world of his future people, to find that suffering and vagrancy has swept their ruined streets. Men fight and kill one another to take what is found, making not their own things because they too, covet a lack of knowledge, and boast of so as if to aspire to greatness. Those who dare know, focus only on their skill and triumph, for it is all they think to do in an ignorant world.

“The Prince is disgusted and travels the kingdom wide to learn of every tradesman and the knowledge of craft they possess, for then he is the man which delegates their trade. The people accept this, even though he is a boy, because it is better that they know not themselves and let him be tainted by knowledge.

“He returns to the palaces and seeks the great men of ignorance, to find they dance and sing amongst themselves, taking all which they desire and never giving in return. They take until there is nothing and then they placate themselves with another’s wealth by welcoming themselves into their fortune. The Prince sees this and finds those who are wealthiest. He tells them not who their enemies may be but promises to keep them from their door, so that they may continue to know nothing and he will once again take the burden of knowledge.

“He returns to his father, the great unknowing King, who sees not even that his son was away because he above all else, he cares only for himself.

“As the prince grows, he cultivates his knowledge of the world even beyond his own kingdom. Each time he returns, he tells nothing, but curiosity begins to sweep the men of palace who take notice to the Prince’s long absences. They begin to whisper amongst themselves and despite their thirst for ignorance and bliss, they come to understand that the Prince knows a great deal of each one. Yet they fear to speak of things told to the Prince, for it is weakness shown to their potential enemy. They grow wary of one another.

“Soon they begin to hide in their grand halls, beckoning for the Prince, who does not come. They falter in their reveries and grow suspicious of other noble men. Who does the Prince go to, if not them? They grow restless; for the minds of great men are loathe to see the sun cross the sky without acknowledging them.

“The Prince has become a man.

“Their palaces begin to decay, their stores run empty, wine bottles fall dry and plates unfilled. Finally they emerge to see that only the King’s lands prosper; that goods pile at his door and skilled men give their labors freely. At last, in desperation they seek the King but find only his son, for his father is dead; fallen ill and too naive of his mortality to seek his health.

“As they fall to their knees in grief of themselves, begging for help, the Prince opens his hands and says; I have given you that which you desire most. I have taken your knowledge and your understanding. I have taken reality and given you yours, stripped you of responsibility and placed it upon myself, because this is all that you seek. You are children now, as close to the creator as your heart desires. And I am your father, who wishes nothing more than your heart’s greatest content.

“He sends them away to their palaces, their rooms. They have lost all because they could not value knowledge. They wither and die- and the Prince becomes King."

\---

Jim sits himself at the counter, foregoing any attempt at formal dining. He watches Sebastian bustle through the kitchen and bring him a plate of prepared salad and it's such a wonderfully domestic thing. Not that he knows what domestic is, but it's the first flicker of a life that he never knew he coveted.

He only pours a small bit of dressing on the salad, preferring the veg bare for the most part; it's a fresh plate and he doesn't get that often so it's a luxury in itself. He takes a slow bite and chews as Sebastian launches into his story. As it progresses, Jim is so intently focused on the blond across from him that his eating slows to nearly a standstill. He only continues because he's promised Seb he would in exchange for the story, and the caliber of the tale that's woven is so disproportionate to what Sebastian is given in return.

The blond has sufficiently carved out a space within Jim and fit himself inside, and the boy hadn't even realized it was happening.

There is such a surge of something washing throughout Jim but he stays seated, forces it down and keeps quiet because if he lets it free, Sebastian will never be able to eat his dinner. But Jim has come to realize, it's not one way and it probably never has been.

Not that he's going to admit that.

"You're magnificent." Is all he says, stabbing at veg with his fork and continuing to eat.

\---

When he was done, he wasn't looking up at Jim, but perhaps this is a trait of his storytelling because when he focuses on his thoughts, he stares into nothing to find them. By now, he's managed to warm his food and make his plate, standing at the other side of the counter from the brunet. He takes a little stab at his meal with a sort of "The end" finality.

He pauses before actually taking his bite and glances at Jim when he speaks. Something flutters inside of him, bubbling up in the deep nasal breath he takes. Strangely warm like the sun on a cold day. Writing is perhaps the only thing Sebastian does not boast, because it is largely personal and not meant to be shared. He shakes his head a little.

"I think a lot." It isn’t exactly modesty.

Finally, he's eating.

\---

Jim doesn't exactly give much praise. It's a superficial thing, he thinks, in a world where very few people make an effort to be extraordinary. But for that story, praise is deserved. It's hauntingly beautiful and obviously tailored for him.

"I'm constantly thinking. Sometimes it's hard to stop. It consumes me. But you manage to make it stop. And that's good...so very good."

He eats more of his salad, finishing a good deal of it but Jim's stomach is atrociously small and fills easily. He's content to watch Sebastian eat his meal. Content to watch Sebastian, who has managed to surprise Jim, so many times today. And for that, he deserves so much of Jim's attention.

\---

Sebastian halts and looks up to watch Jim for a minute that drags on like many. He's stunned again, for however many times that’s been in one day. It's practically a rugby ball upside his head because it was so very personal a thing to say and dangerously close to feelings. And they don’t talk about that. They’ve revealed the most to one another today, even in fractures and fragments of words and action, there was much to learn of one another.

He opens his mouth and nothing really leaves it, so he smiles to himself and goes back to eating, letting his thoughts return to their frolic. Sebastian can understand a restless mind; he can see thought in a constant flicker behind those eyes even when they reveal nothing of their intent. There is so much more to him than the surface, proof in every word he chooses to say out loud.

It was a telling thing, another little piece of the puzzle... and he was part of it. Part of something that made up the enigma, because it was just as much a mystery to wonder- why Sebastian? He had that effect on Jim? Behind the masks and underneath the cleverness, was that how he felt? A mutual ease.

Endless questions with mysterious answers he'd keep striving for.

It made a familiar feeling come back. A little knot in his chest; a nagging, an insistence. This idea that he couldn't leave Jim alone, that he wouldn't. No matter that his life had been threatened at every turn and it was a struggle of push and pull between them. Regardless of how separated they were by circumstance. He would find a way... to protect Jim even when he didn't want to be. Didn't need to be, in some regards. And such lengths he would go to hold that promise to himself. He was an Aries, after all.

\---

Jim takes this unoccupied time to study Sebastian, whose easy smile seems to be plastered on his face like he's won a prize. Jim can't possibly be that prize, but the older boy seems insistent on it. Certain things may never be vocalized between them but so much is said without either boy opening their mouth.

Finally, Jim pushes off his perch, leaving his plate because if there are servants to do that sort of thing, Jim isn't doing it.

"I'm going to get ready for bed." Is all he murmurs before leaving the kitchen to climb the stairs to Sebastian's bedroom. Collecting the clothing Sebastian set out for him, Jim ducks into the bathroom to shower because he is greedy and hot water is precious and he'll take one every day, sometimes even twice.

\---

On the desk in the bedroom, joining Sebastian's journal and notepad, are the supplies Nigel returned from the city with while they were underneath the stars. Everything that was asked for, in some cases a little extra and a collection of personal items that had been added down by the Moran heir as well; a toothbrush, deodorant of a kind, a comb, a few pairs of socks (black) and a few pairs of boxer pants- also black of course. Sebastian guessed the size easily enough because he'd seen that tiny frame quite personally. They were all things assumed lost with the items left behind in the alley, a continued debt and in some cases, Sebastian couldn't fill in blanks with what might have been in his possession already. Jim was small and Sebastian had always been Sebastian; broad up top, slender from the waist down and tall for his age.

Downstairs he's already set aside the remains of their meals and he returns to his room not long after Jim has hopped off into the wash. He separates all the bought items; personal to star chart, and then goes about digging through the wardrobe for things to sleep in.

The first night home is always one he delays in, but he is full and pleasantly at peace and he thinks tonight will be different.


	11. Pour Gasoline on Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I burn slowly
> 
> The story of Moriarty and Moran, from the very beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This will be updated every Saturday!**
> 
> Thanks go out to [Hippano](http://hippano.tumblr.com/) for all her support! Beta, editing and art~!

Jim is in heaven under the hot torrent of steam and he doesn't hesitate to use Sebastian's shampoos and soaps to wash up. Jim has no qualms about using the older boy's things; Sebastian is his, therefore so are his belongings. He isn't shy and nervous like a brand new guest his age should be. He's slowly taking over the house as he likes, because that is how Jim works. He may be from and have nothing, but that never stops him from taking as he sees fit. Piece by piece, Jim is building his empire, because he will rise above those subjects who chose to remain ignorant to the world around them.

When he's finished and dries off, he pulls on the too big thermal and sleep pants, having to tighten the drawstring as tight as it will allow to keep them on his narrow hips. Even then they ride down low. No matter how he adjusts the shirt, part of the collar is hanging down over a shoulder, down his back, or exposing a streak of his chest and collar bone from beneath the fabric. Sebastian was probably never once Jim's size, but the clothing is soft and comfortable and smells like the older boy so it works just fine for now.

He leaves the bathroom with a torrent of steam haloing him, skin pink from the heat and damp hair slicked back.

\---

Sebastian is at his bed by now. He prefers his showers morning side to help wake him so he’s already dressed in something not unlike what Jim is now wearing, just better fitted. He's writing in his journal, glancing up to smile when Jim emerges. For once his hair is tamed, wet and pushed back, skin a healthy glow in the mild light.

He's adorable. Especially in Sebastian's things.

\---

Jim heads over to the bed and climbs onto it, wriggling his way under Sebastian's arm and situating himself against the older boy. He glances at the journal and the pen that's poised against the paper, then burrows into the nook under the blond's arm, pressing to his side.

He's woefully short, his feet barely stretch past Sebastian's knees when he curls up and they're covered by the ends of the too long pajama bottoms. But he's decidedly comfortable, warm and content, and that trio of things are a very rare occurrence.

\---

Seb's left arm accommodates it's visitor, one knee bent up where his journal rests for support. Somehow, he tends to wind up in the middle of the bed much of the time and maybe that's a reflection on how little anyone else ever shares one with him. But this bed is plenty large enough for a Jim on either side of him, although it wasn't saying much because he doesn't take up terribly much space. Maybe two on either side.

Sebastian is scrawling notes about constellations and Chopin's Nocturne: 14. He details the stars of name that he can recall most vividly, placing them amongst the telling of short stories about each of the zodiac constellations. Fractured memories and things to recall. He ends his writing with: _Stars can reach the sky on their own._

\---

Jim closes his eyes and listens to the tip of the pen scratch against the paper, trying to discern each letter from the noise it makes. He's not sleepy or tired, but he's relaxed and considering all that's happened today, that's a bloody miracle. As the pen finally stops, he reopens his eyes and curls himself to place his head on Sebastian's chest, looking at the journal and reading its words with interest. Seb is endlessly clever in a way Jim can admire, and he smiles when turns his head once more to nuzzle his cheek against the older boy's solid chest.

\---

Jim is the only one Sebastian will no longer keep from the pages of thoughts. It goes as far that he leaves it open for him to glance over, even though he himself does not read over the words. Jim does as he pleases and if he desires to read, he will. There is no sense hiding, even if the consequence is destruction. And he doesn't mind that... _Magnificent_ dances through his thoughts and rings solid in his heart.

Seb shuts the journal, pen tucked between the pages. He drops it on the side of the bed near the right hand night table, not bothering to toss it any further. Hands freed up, fingers smooth over jet black which remains damp, his plastered wrist resting around the figure pressed to him. It's cool in the room with no fire lit, but the covers will be plenty warm and so is Sebastian.

\---

When Jim has once again become the sole focus of Sebastian's attention, he lifts his head up and faces the other boy, looking at him with a sort of curiosity. His eyebrows seem almost permanently arched in this state and they wash away a good deal of the innocence that otherwise paints his face. They both know that's not the case in the slightest; even in his inexperience for certain things, Jim will never be innocent.

He shifts and pushes more of himself on top of Sebastian, until he's laying out across the broad body instead of the soft mattress. Both have their benefits, but at the moment he prefers Sebastian. The older boy is always accommodating, and it's frankly just how Jim wants it to be. Sebastian may be an Alpha male, through and through, but so is Jim, and the small brunet has the much bigger personality.

\---

And he does accommodate, dropping bending knee and shifting shoulders a bit. A brow quirks up and mouth corners twitch, watching Jim curiously in his continued quest to figure out what's going on in his head.

Jim is no one else. No matter how small he may seem, his personality is dominated by something much larger and more dangerous than physical prowess and Sebastian could sense that in the very first moments he laid eyes on him. Perhaps it's in the eyes, the black abyss of knowledge and calculation that bores into your soul. He isn't afraid of boys like Sebastian, who boast their leadership status without need of words. In the end, anyone who thinks themselves Alpha above Jim will learn that not all problems can be solved by brutes- or so his former mates could tell you.

\---

Jim just props his chin on Sebastian's sternum and stares up at the blue eyes, a pleasant mutation that most people seem to prefer. Sebastian's are particularly bright, no doubt with the aid of his tan skin and fair hair. He's a typical beauty- someone nearly everyone in the world finds handsome. Jim, is not. He is complete contrast, and not the sort that either men or women find appealing. But it's not Jim who has to suffer staring at his own face, so he's rather content with the state of things, because that beauty is not lost on Jim in the slightest.

Jim shifts up higher and in the process the shirt he's borrowed rucks down over his shoulder and collarbone, but he doesn't seem bothered enough to fix it. Jim is not versed in the methods of seduction; he just takes when he wants and Sebastian seems eager to respond at any given moment. It’s obvious who the instigator is, because Sebastian's forwardness tends to get him maimed. Even if the blond is content to lay back and take it.

Jim leans down, face hovering over Sebastian's. It's not the boy's lips that Jim aims for, but rather the scar he's put above them, made from snapping teeth. He presses a kiss to it; it's forever Jim's, a claim that will never leave on an otherwise gorgeous face.

It feels oddly good to deface something so beautiful.

\---

Sebastian just watches Jim with quiet curiosity and amusement, his face rather expressive even when it's calm. He holds still, because there's a plenty strong part of him that likes to see what Jim is going to do, what he might feel the inclination for.

A kiss to his scar. His gift of sorts; Sebastian's first lesson. It's a little thing, sometimes almost missable if whoever is too taken with his eyes and jawline and cheekbones and nice hair. But it's a tiny thing that Sebastian never forgets, because his tongue runs so softly over it every time he licks his lips. Intentionally and not. He can't help smiling under Jim, hands lying in wait.

\---

Sebastian has a charming smile but it belongs to a shark, showing too many teeth. Jim can feel the lips pull and he knows the boy is smiling; smugly at that. He could have anyone with a crook of his finger and yet it's Jim in his bed, laying on top of him. Jim wonders if the boy just has a fetish for searching out the unobtainable and once he's had his fill of Jim, he'll toss him aside for the next conquest. It makes the brunet stiffen a bit and he hates that smile, wants to smash the teeth in so no one else is charmed by it.

But he doesn't, because he also loves it, and can't imagine Sebastian without it. Grinning out his insolence with a sparkling twinkle in his eyes that makes the world forgive his transgressions. Jim flicks his tongue out over the scar in a tiny kitten lick, tasting skin and feeling the rasp of slight stubble around the split. It won't grow in over the sliver of white flesh, the tissue too damaged for the follicles to make it through. It's Jim's spot in that smile, and Sebastian will never charm another person without the brunet being a part of it.

Jim takes his time, not because he wants to really but because Sebastian is waiting, so Jim makes him wait even longer. How long would it take to rile the older boy up before he just finally snaps and takes what he wants. Jim predicts it'll be a long time, if ever at all, after tonight. So he teases, because he can, and this isn't a world Jim really knows yet.

His narrow hips shift ever so slowly, down against the broad pelvis beneath him, till he slots just right between thick thighs. The slick pink tongue flicks out to drag across Sebastian's jawline, following the natural ridge of taut muscle in his neck down to his collar bone. Here, he nibbles and bites, leaving a red ring on the skin that he sucks on till it purples and bruises. It'll match Jim's own stomach, but the circumstances are far more enjoyable for them both.

\---

Digits twitch against fabric and Sebastian sighs as Jim shifts against him. Blond tilts a fraction as lips and tongue and teeth make their way southward to the protrusions of collarbone exposed by the dip of his shirt.

Jim may not be experienced in matters but he's clever, and that makes him better at it than he should be, almost as if he's pinpointed pressure spots already. Not that Sebastian has exactly made it difficult, nor is he any less the average teenager in most regards. Sebastian just enjoys this, the feeling of Jim's mouth, the sting of forming disturbance on his skin. It's familiar and he likes that. His good hand finally makes it off the bed and touches Jim's hip, shirt too big and providing plenty barrier to his touch. For now.

\---

And Jim, being the teasing little shite that he is, instantly rolls his hip away from the pursuit of Sebastian's questioning fingers, sucking all the harder at the raised ridge of collar bone. There's no clear message to it, Jim is obviously not upset because he continues his assault of Sebastian's neck. But he's shied away from the touch, because Sebastian's not desperate yet and Jim wants to see that but he's not going to ask for it.

A pale hand slithers up across Seb's torso, finding the dip of that low v neck collar and curling a finger under it, tugging it down and stretching it as far as the fabric will give. This exposes more skin, and Jim doesn't hesitate to mark that up as well, trailing further down the chest till his teeth are grazing over sculpted pectorals and nibbling at the muscles that shift under each breath and heartbeat.

\---

It's indulgent, being the one under oral scrutiny, and idle is not a state Sebastian is used to. Instinct in his bones desires action, control. He's evaded and his hand falls short to land at his own hip where it curls against the thin material covering.

The shirt pulls at the back of his neck, tight but soft and not quite cutting. Jim is there on the exposure, defying barriers that get between what he wants.

Sebastian will wait, much as he'd like to grab at those hips and pull Jim painfully flush. He'll wait and make every effort to read the language of Jim's body; an impossible task, he knows already.

\---

And Jim never gives anything away. There is never any indication that he likes one thing in particular, and there are never any signs to read as an encouragement. He's as mysterious laying in bed with bodies pressed together as he is scowling in the streets or plotting the mutilation of certain rugby players. Jim is permanent intrigue, except when he's under the stars and his emotions surge out across his face in an all encompassing smile.

But this is no star Jim that presses against Sebastian without any real promise of friction; this is Jim as a sexual, exploring creature and he is ruthless in his pursuit of knowledge. If he has his own needs or wants, they oft go ignored, for Sebastian is his specimen.

The shirt fabric won't stretch any further, so Jim let's go of it, letting it curl back into place as his attention focuses on the slight bump in the material atop the center of Sebastian's pectoral. Spidery fingers come up and knead a slow circle around it, pinching and pulling none too delicately.

\---

His smile is an amused one. It's not worth opening his eyes for when the collar releases in overstretched distortion around his neck. However, curious little fingers pinching make his chest dip down when he exhales, lashes parting halfway to the dim lighting of the room so he can trace Jim's closeness. He swallows and slow breaths take a little more effort for calm.

\---

Jim won't allow any sort of calm. Not when clever fingers are replaced with a tongue that drenches the fabric in saliva as it sweeps around the nipple, then pushes it into Jim's mouth. Lips and teeth close around the fabric barrier, but the pressure is still felt as he bites down, not too harshly at the moment, but the promise is always there. Jim is never gentle, no matter how tender the delicate bits may be.

He soaks through the fabric and then pulls free to press his fingers to the nipple again, now rubbing it harshly, soothing away the tingling sting from the bite, but introducing a new sort of rough friction that makes the flesh harden and tent the material obscenely.

\---

People don't really take time often; Not in his experience. Boys get to the point rather quickly, going straight for the groin. Girls usually think this is what young men want but would prefer to be lavished upon themselves- which a good man will do. This is attention to detail, a tease of places and sensations often ignored. Something he would do.

Calm is harder now, but he battles for keeps and even though he is so very untrained in being idle, the challenge almost makes it better. His hands twitch with urge and they aren't the only thing restless about him. His breath falls softly interrupted and there's a bit of struggle to keep his eyes open, a fight he isn't sure why he's trying to win and so they slip closed again because focus is so much easier with less senses.

God, he could just... enjoy this.

\---

Sebastian is utterly quiet and still and Jim doesn't like any of that. To Jim, that translates as boring and if Jim is boring Sebastian then there is definitely no reason to keep this up. He pinches the nipple and wrenches it around as if he's trying to rip it off- and he just might be.

Frustrated, Jim rolls off of Sebastian and in one swift movement, pushes at the bulkier boy with his feet and all of his strength till he sends Sebastian shoving off the mattress and onto the floor.

Tugging the cover to the duvet up, Jim burrows underneath it and curls up at the foot of the bed, nothing more than a lump now of compacted annoyance.

\---

And it's a high bed. A long way down.

Sebastian hits the floor and once again has experienced the tempestuous storm that is James. There's a hard cringe and a groan that gets lost under the tousle of duvet on the bed, his wrist throbbing after it's unceremonious smack to the wood as if it were a dropped weight.

If Jim was waiting to see Sebastian's snapping point, he found it.

The older boy pushes himself up off the floor and stands to find nothing but a tiny hill of blue and cream sheets. Reaching out and grabbing a fistful of the embroidered duvet, he yanks it off the mattress and takes a step back for good measure so it almost entirely slides off the bed. When he lets it go, the whole weight of it should drag off the rest in short time.

\---

There's a noise that sounds+ suspiciously like a growl as the covers are tugged off the bed. Jim clings to great fistfuls of the blankets and as a result is jerked along with them until he too is jumbled in a heap on the floor. Jim barely has time to give his customary scowl as he delves back under the blanket- it doesn't matter to him if they're on the floor or the bed anyway.

Beneath the mound of Jim and cotton, a huffing noise sounds, like a badger holed up in it's den, daring the other creature to bother it and get a snap of jaws for its efforts.

\---

Sebastian huffs a sigh as he hears Jim hit the floor, maybe a little padded at the least by the bundle of blanket. Beside the mass, he drops to his knees and it's none gentle really, a nice thud of body weight because he can't even use the bed as a counterbalance.

Again, fistful of duvet, he pulls it back to find Jim underneath and as soon as he does, he lets go of the blanket to get that good hand on a slender shoulder. And this is fucking infuriating because he has only one of any use and yet he disregards that when he snaps the other outward to grab Jim's wrist. His grip is weak at best with no real ability to fully close his fingers and he knows it. He knows Jim knows it. But now Sebastian's aggression is instinctually crawling up into him and that makes him do stupid things like chase after boys who break his bones.

\---

There's a hiss as Jim's unearthed from the covers once more, only this time he's unable to scramble for them again as he's held in place by a large hand curled around his shoulder. His opposite arm reels back to deliver a solid slap across Sebastian's face, but that too is captured, though poorly, and the brunet could wrench out of that and probably end up damaging that wrist for good.

He's not willing to do that, yet, so he glares up at the larger boy and contemplates where a kick would do the most damage instead, because Jim understands lashing out better than he does whatever this is.

\---

There's a pause there, between Jim's glaring and Sebastian's recognition that he stopped before making waste of his immediate weak point. For a moment all he does is stare, frustration screwed up on his face, knowing that if he gives too much time for Jim to decide another course of action, he'll suffer for it. He really didn't need any additional bruising. Today at least.

Then again, everything with Jim is a risk and Sebastian takes it. He lets go of the smaller shoulder and palms his hand hard against the floor by still damp brunet, leaning in to smash their lips together while his weak fingers stay true in their pathetic hold on Jim's wrist. And that's all he really wanted in the first place but between them, everything is a bloody fight because neither of them say a fucking word.

\---

That's all Jim really wants as well, that thrum of adrenaline that pushes all thoughts from his mind as Sebastian finally just gives in and takes. But Jim never makes anything easy, even the things he wants. Everything has to be so difficult, and the day it isn't, something is obviously completely wrong with him.

Jim tilts his head up and presses into the kiss, knowing it's bruising his lips and the pressure is almost too painful. With his shoulder free, he can move his hand and it slinks up to wrap around Sebastian's shirt collar, forcibly keeping him close.

Slow and steady is never going to work for Jim and deep down, he knows it doesn't work for Sebastian either or he wouldn't be here.

\---

Sebastian is first to give in to the sharp pressure, if you can call it giving in because he breaks away only with the intent of biting Jim's bottom lip, trying to coax that mouth open by firm force of lips and tongue and the nip of teeth. And he does enjoy this, as lovely as the calm can be and as much as it eases his system from its tensions- he does love the burn of adrenaline and the rush of blood. Idle be damned, this is life.

Sebastian's fingers slide looser on Jim's wrist, touching down his arm and curse the bloody useless limb because he can't lift the other without pressing down a good 30 pounds over Jim's weight on top of his small frame. All he has to touch with is a horribly restricted stub, so his next alternative is his mouth.

\---

Jim still puts up a fight, stubbornly keeping his mouth closed, despite the muffled growls as his lip is assaulted. He never gives in to anything easily, even if it's so blatantly what he wants. Finally, Sebastian is wrenching Jim's mouth open by a persistent thrust of his tongue, and Jim bites at the intruding muscle, sucking it further into his mouth until it's likely he'll end up choking on it.

The slim body ratchets up off the floor and mounded duvet to arch against Sebastian, chasing friction he denied himself before. But now the adrenaline has kickstarted in his veins and he's boiling for any sort of touch. Jim doesn't do regret but he'd rather that hand barely skimming down his arm had a bit more mobility to it. As if to echo his frustration, his hand drags down Seb's chest like a claw, catching on the fabric of the shirt and scraping the skin beneath.

\---

He wants so badly to grab and squeeze but finds his hand about as useful as wearing a mitten for doing so. But he can fix this and he will.

With Jim pressing upward to him, he slides his poor arm underneath the other boy's back and pulls with shoulder and crook of elbow, sharply jerking Jim into him where his thin arm is in danger of getting trapped between the relentless smash of their torsos.

He pushes off with his good hand and sits back onto his legs, pulling the smaller body upward. Once he no longer has to balance weight on the right hand, he can pull it around the brunet's shoulder, snaking up into his hair. Mouths press in utter refusal to break away now that they've finally bridged the gap of lips to taste and tongues delve into one another in a pursuit of dominance.

\---

As the arm slides beneath him and drags him up even closer, Jim gasps against Sebastian's mouth, nearly losing the kiss as he's shifted up vertically. He has to move his arm before it's crushed and he slides it up to the blond's shoulder, curling around like an anchor.

He settles into Sebastian's lap and this position is familiar and welcome because neither has to strain to reach the other. The hand in his hair is pushing Jim closer to the attentive mouth and his jaw aches and his lips are wet but he's not breaking it anytime soon. Tongues slide against one another, curling and flicking and forcing.

\---

This is infinitely better, giving his plastered limb something solid to do as it keeps Jim mashed against him with strength that hasn't faltered. The right hand slides out of the mess it's made of Jim's drying hair and dives down to the hem of a shirt too big, getting a squeeze on little arse and pulling Jim's hips tighter against him. He claws atop the fabric and lifts his hand, giving one cheek a little slap to which he can't help grinning into their kiss.

\---

As the firm slap of a broad hand comes down against the curve of his arse, Jim jolts and squeaks, then growls and bites down on the tongue that's in his mouth. And yet he tilts back into that hand and rolls his hips against it. That's been uncharted territory as of yet, and the single large hand covers more than it's fair share of the small backside.

Both arms lift to incircle Sebastian's neck, and Jim pulls himself closer, practically scaling the older boy's torso in an effort to press himself as tight as possible. He finally has to break away from the kiss to get a proper gasp of air and blunt nails bite into Sebastian's neck as he pants against the older boy's mouth.

\---

Sebastian only half allows air to be grasped by lungs because their mouths are still so close to one another that he's kissing between the breaths he steals from Jim. That busy hand makes another round of dragging against fabric before it dives up under shirt hem and slides over smooth skin curving around hips and narrow waist. As it travels back downwards, fingers crawl their way under the cinched belt line of pants barely able to stay up on that slender body, hand on smooth bare skin he squeezes again. Still trying to get air into his lungs, he starts nipping at Jim's chin and jawline instead, unable to keep away when the language of Jim's body is so encouraging.

\---

The kisses are frantic and sloppy and hard, and Jim prefers that to practiced perfection. Jim doesn't want skill and experience, he wants all of that thrown away in favor of the passion that's burning through his body.

Sebastian's hands are all over him finally, and it's glorious; the drag of rough fingers over his smooth skin, unable to settle on one single spot. It's desperate and it's what Jim wanted all along. He makes no effort to discourage the delve of Sebastian's hand, rocking up against the solid chest and then back against the groping hand. His head tilts back, giving more access for the mouth sliding over his skin, small chest heaving as his heart flutters beneath it. Evidence of how much he's enjoying this is pressed up against Sebastian's chest, growing harder and hotter with each salacious drag of fingers.

\---

His lips lead and his tongue makes a moist trail on the skin as it tastes and teases until he's found a tender spot below Jim's jawline to bite. There's sting to it but not enough to break skin and the next gravitates down that slender throat in aimless ambitions to reach every bit of flesh.

His hand soothes down the curvature of Jim's arse to find the ever sensitive space where it meets thigh, intentionally dragging his blunt nails along the skin to taunt untouched places. He can feel Jim pressed against him and it's half maddening, mind skipping sloppily through potential solutions to their one handed problem.

\---

Jim's breath is hitching with each nip, now on the receiving end of oral attentions lavished upon throat and collar. The shirt droops down far enough to expose a buffet of skin for Sebastian's perusal and Jim is awash in the worship of tongue and teeth.

As Sebastian's hand dips into the tender crevice made by the curve of Jim's arse, the nails bring a breathy moan from his throat and he curls forwards and presses his face into the fair hair, biting his lip. He unabashedly is rubbing himself against the solid torso now, fingers wriggling down under Sebastian's collar to scrape and drag along the bare skin stretched over the older boy's spine.

\---

He doesn't need much space in the already loose fabric of borrowed sleepers to tilt his hand and give Jim another pop of flesh, this time skin to skin and fingers catch in a grip that cups one cheek in a cute little handful he can squeeze.

His mouth is at the base of Jim's throat now, head tilted to get just the perfect angle as he nips his way to the dip of neck and shoulder and bites a little harder here, sucking little roses into the pale canvas. He makes a low and breathy sound as fingers rake the tough plain of his back, his busted arm finding another use in encouraging that rock against his body, friction between them taunting Jim into an undeniable desire.

Without a doubt, Jim isn't the only one worked up. There's only so far he can take it without express permissions but he gladly indulges in his selfish need to touch Jim for as long as he's given.

\---

Sebastian is wonderfully handsy, and daring, because those slaps to Jim's arse easily could have set Jim off into a tangent of his own fierce slaps. But each smack sent a thrill up his spine, as well as the harsh grasp to a handful of smooth flesh.

That breathy laughter kicks up again, melting into a high pitched giggle as Sebastian bites into his neck and just _sucks._ He clings all the tighter, clawing at the blond's shirt. It needs to be gone, all of it, every shred of clothing between them. Even if it did keep his hand wonderfully close as it slips down the back of his sleepers.

The arm around his waist is keeping him pressed and there's no where to go but continue to grind forwards and try to shag Sebastian's stomach. And if he keeps this up, he probably will.

\---

There's an utter delight in hearing that laugh as it tumbles out of Jim, bringing with it a surge through Sebastian which manifests itself into the utter lack of restraint he begins to show. Drawing tongue along the rosy flesh he's decorated, he inclines his head the other direction and finds his way to the protruding etch of collarbone gone neglected, sinking teeth into precious skin well enough to leave a lasting mark for days, sucking and running tongue over the abused flower of red which blossoms.

He almost has that smaller body pinned to him painfully, fabric siding on fabric, friction up against sensitive flesh trapped between them. His hand continues crawling along Jim's backside, clawing and pulling until the handful slides from his grip and he slaps it again, a bit sharper this time. He wants to do far more than that, but the ever lingering trouble of Jim's changing mood holds above their heads and he has yet to learn the ins and outs of his changing permissions; as if he ever might.

\---

The pinch of teeth and skin make him shudder at the indecency of it, and Jim keens against the mouth savaging his skin, marking him as Sebastian's by imprint of teeth and tongue. He moans out obscenities predominantly featuring the word 'fuck' as his body arches against the solid one pressed close. The harsh slap jostles his body forwards and he knows if this keeps up there’s going to be a red handprint there as well.

But it's not enough. Both of them are fully clothed still and that's just a fucking tragedy. Jim pushes back and draws a hand back, sliding it down his stomach and clawing the shirt out of the way so he can rub the flat of his palm down against his obvious erection, relieving some of the pressure that's become nearly painful.

"Clothes...off. Now." Jim’s orders get disjointed and basic when he's aroused, but no less insistent and demanding.

\---

Sebastian is tending his claim with a soothing tongue, sliding wet warm over the new welts decorating Jim's collarbone when the other boy pushes for space between them. A ragged inhale is drawn in past softly swollen lips and the blond practically sighs with relief when Jim orders him to remove the obnoxious barriers between them. And he wastes no fucking time with it either.

Sliding his hand free of the sleepers, he catches the hem of Jim's- well, now it was Jim's- shirt and unfurls his arm from his waist, quickly pulling the bothersome piece off and letting it go wherever the fuck, which would soon be the favorite vacation spot of their clothing. Then he’s after his own shirt and just as fast, it’s gone. The next part is a little trickier and it must be obvious by the blatant breath of "Fuck." that Sebastian utters with frustration. But he is fast on the solution and acts.

His arm catches Jim's waist again and he leans them forward, depositing Jim briefly atop the duvet now sprawled around at the side of the bed. He starts there, grabbing the hems of Jim's flimsy layers and peeling them down his hips, careful not to catch on the weeping erection begging for attention. Cooperation and urgency free Jim and let Sebastian wrestle out of his own with far less finesse given one handedness. Inevitably they're both free and Sebastian is drawing Jim up into his arms again, anxious to get back to those swear-laced moans and the mouth which elicited them.

\---

As the shirt is pulled off, cool air rushes in and he tries to curl in against Sebastian's warmer body. But the blond is already pushing him back to the floor to tug off his sleepers. As the soft material slides down off his narrow hips, Jim gives a moan as his freed cock curves up to bob against his abdomen, leaving a smear of preejaculate in its wake.

His head tilts back and hands scrabble at the floor for purchase, needing to grab hold of something, anything to center himself. Jim is unraveling chaos when he is aroused and only the touch of Sebastian's strong arms wrapped around him bring any sense to the snarl.

Sure enough, he didn't have to wait long before the older boy was pulling him back up against a broad chest, and Jim clings desperately, hands curling around shoulders to steady him as he presses frantic, sloppy kisses along Sebastian's jaw and face, rutting up against his stomach with all the finesse of an overeager teenager.

\---

Sebastian has to pretend he's blind, at least for a little while, because there are bruises on Jim again and he hates it but he can't afford to sit and think on the matter now. Better things were demanding his attention, wrapping arms around him, pressing between them eagerly. It takes a little jostling and it isn't perfect but nothing about this is and maybe they both prefer it that way. Jim is kissing feverishly at his face and it hurries him to feel the chaos gathered in his hands.

His plastered arm is pressed against Jim's back again, a sharp contrast of rough and hard to smooth and pliant. Free right travels a greedy trail over Jim's side and back and arse, squeezing one last time and giving him a pop before it dips into the space between their bodies where cocks meet flesh and warmth and each other. Jim is a little higher on his hips but Sebastian's length can accommodate a little where his positioning couldn't. His fingers curl around Jim's erection in greeting, sliding a thumb over the pearling tip and making promises, his own hips trying to arch up as if it weren't going to strain his muscles to searing. It was far more important that he find them together and thank the bloody grand designer that he didn't have small hands. Heated, desperate flesh meets in a firm press between calloused digits and palm and Sebastian sighs because it's bloody brilliant.

\---

Jim spreads his legs to straddle Sebastian's better, along with the older boy's direction of strong hands on wiry limbs, and they're pressed flush together. It's not a perfect slot, but Sebastian is thicker and longer and it's never going to be an exact fit and that's fine. He can feel the blond throb against him, and though Jim is paler and pinker, the differences end there. They're both cocks, and it doesn't take much to excite or pleasure them. A broad hand will do, especially if it's wrapping around both shafts and forcing them together in a rough grasp.

A sigh shudders through Jim's body and he dips his head down against Sebastian's shoulder to watch, lip catching in his teeth as foreskins stretch and wrinkle with the drag of the calloused hand. The rough skin against such delicate, smooth flesh adds delicious texture, much better than Jim's own hand, which he's become familiar with.

" 'Bastian..." He pants and rolls his hips, unable to articulate past a few syllables. The name is slurred like he's drunk and he quite possibly is, just not on anything he's imbibed.

\---

He's a little bit vain, isn't he? Because the sound of even half his name rolling off Jim's tongue breathily makes him sigh a pleasured groan, tilting his face into Jim's hair, nipping at the shell of his ear as it's found.

His hand is tasked with expected greatness and it's not exactly a simple feat but Seb bolsters against challenges. His full palm strokes, fingers clenching around them, creating a fiery friction which flickers through the nerves. Their unmatched lengths works for them, precome mixing when they rub together, the rock of hips aiding in the way they unabashedly grind flesh to flesh. He doesn't bother with niceties of starting excruciatingly slow because frankly, neither of them seem keen on slowing down.

\---

Jim may leave the task at hand to Sebastian, but he is in no way idle. Small hips snap to thrust himself through the ring made by Sebastian's fist, rutting him against the older boy in a slick slide, thighs meeting Sebastian's in the downfall. The noises it makes are obscenely loud in the quiet of the room, but the sounds only spur him on to shift and grind, rubbing them together in a drag of heated flesh.

Heaving breaths pant out over Sebastian's sweaty neck and his cheek still pressed to the curve of one shoulder, keeping him propped up enough so that he can watch the join of their bodies through half lidded eyes. He likes this so much better, getting off together. As lovely as Sebastian's mouth had been, he much prefers to have the blond panting and groaning against him as his body shivers towards its climax.

The curses start a new, though this time they are in Irish, thick and slurred on his tongue. Fucks have become 'Feck' and 'Dhia', and they spill from his mouth on the edge of high pitched whines.

\---

It might have made sense for Sebastian to let Jim's hips do the work of thrusting while his hand stays committed to the task of keeping them collected, but his own hips are not so cooperative in thinking so. They are chaos- a desperate, sweaty pair of horny teenagers grinding against one another in a utter mess of heavy breathing and fluids. And that is perfectly fucking fabulous for Sebastian.

The sounds, the words, and the accent - which seems to get thicker and lazier in the heat of gasping - are pure melody to his ears and he wants more of it. While Jim is watching between their bodies, pressed to a broad, tan shoulder, Seb turns his cheek again and presses his mouth to Jim's paler curvature, kissing along the taut skin which stretches an arm around him. As his hand tightens around them in spasming squeezes, creating a new unpredictable element to their frantic rhythm, he bites into Jim's shoulder and drags his teeth, sucking hard as the skin slides free of enamel. Neither of them are going to last much longer- it’s utterly out of control.

\---

Jim barely has a hold of himself, his entire being focused down to the slide of their cocks and the squeeze of Sebastian's hand as it brought new, wonderful friction and sensations to the smaller boy, making him arch up to thrust more frantically against thick fingers.

Suddenly there's a sharp pinch in his shoulder and despite being a genius it takes him an embarrassingly long time to realize it's Sebastian biting him and sucking at the smooth curve of skin. He practically wails like a banshee and claws his way down Seb's back, none too gently either, shredding what he can beneath blunt nails.

"Táim ag pleascadh!" (I’m coming!*) Jim cries out as he tenses, and it's not much of a warning in a different language, but the meaning is obvious when he comes with a shudder, spurting messily over Sebastian's hand and cock.

\---

Nails biting, dragging, leaving marks across his back make the older boy arch, not intending to close so much space between them but he hisses and moans as his head tilts back. Jim's glorious little cry shudders through him, flesh pulsing obscenely against hot flesh as the other boy comes, spilling over his hand which slides to a crown and presses the head of their cocks together. That's all it takes, Jim and his voice and his nails and his body trembling- just Jim. Seb gasps ragged and broken, his body jerking in the tension that forces him to stop moving as he comes hard.

When muscles start to relax and the wave of relief thunders over him, a groan escapes through his exhale as he presses his mouth to Jim's abused shoulder, lips parted and panting heavily as he instinctively tightens the other arm to keep the brunet close.

\---

Jim doesn't have the strength to keep his body aloft and he crumples forwards against Sebastian's chest, unable to do anything more than chase down breaths to try and manage a full lung of air. Pure, unfiltered bliss runs through his small form, lighting all the way down to his fingertips and toes, which curl slowly, his legs gone numb from being folded at Sebastian's sides.

He's liquid, but the arm curved around his back keeps him grounded, keeps him pressed to Sebastian, but it's still never enough. Jim has a need to be closer, to be fused to the blond and inseparable. He had to chase Jim, had to catch him and now that he has him, if he ever lets Jim go it's going to devastate the little Irish boy. But that's too much to think about now when his body has sunken into soft rapture and Sebastian still holds him.

He was wrong. He _can_ feel bliss.

\---

Frantic air begins to calm in their chests and bodies relax against one another in delightful loss of tension- all but the arm which holds Jim and it's right sided mate which draws out from between their spent forms. Blue eyes fall shut as the two of them rest in an upward slump together, the room diving into a quiet sweetness while wetness cools on their skin. After his lungs have caught up, his lips can be felt in tender touch on Jim's rose marked neck, just idle attentions as he enjoys the closeness- and he wants to keep it. Wants to hold on to that forever because it's worth the fight and the back and forth and the stupid lessons he has to learn along the way.

Eventually they'd need to move; crawl back into bed and drag the duvet atop them but he was content for a long while just to enjoy being entangled. Pieces fitting together after their uneven break. He knew how apart they were in this world; one undercut of his brilliance, a clever boy who should have been a prince. The other, a privileged heir taking things for granted.

Sebastian would fix it... He'd find a way to keep Jim close. Keep him safe. Keep him his.

\---

Jim is warm and comfortable and sated, and he could easily curl in against Sebastian and stay there. It's what he wants, to just remain here in the arms of the one person in the world that sees him as something extraordinary. He wants to cling to it for as long as the world will allow, and ignore the bittersweet tang of what the future holds. Jim wants so desperately to live in the now, but his brain never lets him. Not unless it's sluggish with oxytocin and endorphins, coming off its adrenaline high.

Jim is first to break away, lifting small hands up to cup Sebastian's face in his palms. He tilts up, and it’s a tremendous effort, but he manages to bring their mouths together in a kiss, and it's slow and sweet and soft. He's content, and it echoes in his actions.

" 'M sleepy 'Bastian," He slurs against the older boy's mouth, stifling a yawn. Jim rarely is, let alone admits it. But today was a tad hectic, and the pain pills have long worn off and his body is exhausted.

\---

Sebastian sighs and it dares to be happy. Jim has fallen into the afterglow of softness that resonates through to Sebastian by the touch of their skin. The blond wonders momentarily, in the brush of their lips, if this is the quiet of mind that he brings the other.

A little smile against Jim's mouth and he touches foreheads with the brunet, his voice a hush when he answers. "Me too."

After a beat, where he enjoys this for it's lingering tenderness, he licks his lips lightly and makes a proposal. "I'm going to get up... And you're coming with me."

He waits for Jim's response because the last of all things he wants is to upset him now.

\---

With a sleepy hum, Jim seems to consider this. He doesn't want to move and having Sebastian do all the work seems ideal. The circumstances are much different and Jim decides he can suffer a bit of carrying if the goal is merely to get him to bed.

"Fine." He murmurs, dipping his head down to lay at the crook of Sebastian's neck and shoulder. His arms lift up higher to round the older boy's neck and keep him steady, accepting his fate. There are very few things in which Jim will let the other boy take charge, but here in the bedroom, he is the wiser one and Jim concedes to it for now.

\---

Sebastian wills himself not to smile, not because it is a triumph of some kind to do something he was told not to. Rather, for Jim's sleepy state and how his temperament falls lazy and willing when he's like this. It will be a short endurance but Jim commits to it by securing arms around his neck and for all the threats of death he'd get for admitting it, he enjoys the feeling too much.

He has to let go briefly with his good hand, reaching out to the bed which is close enough to palm for support. It's by sheer strength in which Jim trusts that Sebastian shifts and manages to get to his feet with a heft, redrawing his arm to secure the smaller frame clinging to him. Just a few steps and a knee on the bed, he sets Jim down on the mattress, untangling himself gently and not thoroughly.

"I'll be right back." He promises against Jim's temple where his lips press.

\---

Jim's not going to admit it either, that being fully supported by Sebastian and cradled in his arms is immensely satisfying, and he likes the feeling of being curled up against him, even if it makes him feel a bit weak and helpless. But he's so relaxed, he finds he just doesn't care.

It's over too quickly as he's set on the bed, but complaining about it was as good as admittance. He just hums with Seb's words as they're whispered against his temple, nodding slowly and curling down against the mattress. After a moment, "Wash your hands."

He worms his way up to the pillows and makes himself something of a nest, rolling onto his stomach and burying his face down into the plush cushions, pale bum bare to the air and sporting a fading red blush on one cheek.

\---

Untangled now, he slides his knee off the bed and stands full, watching Jim curl up on the sheets and give him a soft command. The flicker of dark colors on pale skin catches his eyes just before the other boy rolls over and then it's gone and that's that- he tries not to dwell. Jim is safe here. He glances down at the duvet and leaves it for his return as he stalks off to the washroom briefly.

In the mirror above the warm running water, Sebastian glances at his reflection and the marks left behind by Jim on his upper body. His smile is a little more prominent, privacy allowing him the enjoyment of territorial ownership on display. He dries his hands and returns to the room to find the brunet flat on is stomach, cute little arse on display and making a claim on the pillows. As he returns to the bed, he gathers the blanket up off the floor and ignores their little pile of briefly worn sleepers, flicking the bedside light off. The room dives into a silvery darkness from the moonlight peering into the tall window, casting shadows over everything and forcing the eyes to adjust. Sebastian sinks into the mattress next to Jim, dragging the covers sluggishly to meet them.

\---

As Sebastian's weight dips down on the mattress, Jim waits till he's close enough and then rolls back into him, the length of his back pressed against Sebastian's torso. The curve of his arse rests on Seb's hip, and he grabs for the duvet to pull it and the older boy's arm over his shoulder. His hair has dried into its usual fluffy black halo, and he'll be amazed to see Sebastian got him a comb to even attempt to tame it. It's soft against Sebastian's collarbone, tucked under his chin in the position Jim's coveted.

His hand tugs Sebastian's to his chest, entwining their fingers in a tight clutch that he won't release any time soon. Jim hates being needy, doesn't want to be dependent. But he knows he's sinking towards that with Sebastian. He's been without for so long, he's desperate for something to hold on to.

\---

Sebastian can't speak on matters of need because this is just as much his, and he doesn't want to say that out loud any more than the other boy does. That Jim wants him so close, wrapped around him and not just draped for lazy warmth- it leaves a swell of something knotted in his chest with Jim's name on it. But that might take up permanent residence now, he can't be sure. He complies silently to the demand of his arm and curls it around the smaller body, pulling the duvet up to their shoulders for good measure.

Settling this way with Jim, he shifts and tucks an arm up under a pillow. Jim's cool against his skin and it's soothing to his ever present warmth, tilting his face down a bit to eye the top of Jim's fluffy head. He's fucking adorable really, but Sebastian keeps that to himself also. It's something else entirely to have fingers wrapped with his and it's more intimacy than either of them have probably ever known; he squeezes gently at the smaller hand. It's late by now, who knew the exact time, but it mattered nothing because they had nowhere to be. Just eight more days to spend together, however they chose.

\---

Jim's fingers wriggle slowly beneath Sebastian's and then the other hand slips up to trace the back of the blond's hand, over knuckles that were split from where they'd smashed into a boy's skull in defense of Jim earlier that day. He's sure that boy was dead when they left that alley way. Any normal person wouldn't be laying in bed with a killer.

But Jim wasn't normal. And he was a killer as well.

It's only a matter of time before both facts settle their way into Sebastian's head, but maybe they had until tomorrow. Seb is happy now, he could feel it in the squeeze of his fingers and the rise and fall of his chest. He wants to keep the older boy as happy as possible.

\---

Jim's fingers brush across his abused knuckles and there's a sting so minor it doesn't really register to his taxed nerves. A part of him flits through recognition of how and why, but it's a distant memory he can only vaguely recall because of the evidence....

He's tired. And laying still for a mere minute makes that so very apparent to him because he's suddenly made of lead.

Blue is closed already. The alertness usually rolling through him after orgasm is washed out in favor of the long and rather emotional day. Curled up with Jim, he's put into a state of peace that fogs up his head until all he can really sense is Jim's touch. Jim's steady breathing, the smell clinging to his hair from a fresh shower- and it's his shampoo and that's just better because it's Jim being with him, around him. His. Fingers twitch in Jim's grasp, but Sebastian has already begun to drift off.

\---

He can feel Sebastian slipping. The day is too long to dwell on anything unpleasant, but dreams can quickly turn dark once consciousness takes over. Jim knows this. Jim doesn't sleep because he is made of nightmares, and when he sleeps, the stars don't shine and the monsters take over in the darkness. He doesn't want Sebastian's dreams to turn to terrors. He wants this happiness to last as long as it can, and Jim will stay awake all night if it means he can chase away the horror.

His lips part and he softly begins to hum Chopin's Nocturne, the very one he played for Sebastian earlier that evening.

\---

Unconscious thought is filled with quiet music and dark softness, which is so very unlike the nights when Sebastian vividly dreams. His return home is almost always shadowed by growling beasts that stalk the edges of his mind, restless and waiting for him to relax. But this eve begins kind to him under the watchful eyes of a guardian, drifting in and out of nonsensical images and a comfortable nothingness.

The house is dreadfully silent but the room lives on in the hum of Jim's voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * "Táim ag pleascadh!" (I’m coming!)  
> Actual translation is properly "I'm going to explode." But the point remains.


	12. What Came Before This Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're the only one who saves me.
> 
> The story of Moriarty and Moran, from the very beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **We will be taking a week off from updates for the end of the holiday and will resume on Jan. 3rd!**  
>  Thank you everyone for your patience and we hope to see you when chapters resume! Happy Holidays!
> 
> A bit longer this week.  
> Thank you to lovely [Hippano](http://hippano.tumblr.com/) for all her inspiring work and continued help!
> 
> And Happy Holidays~!

He doesn't sleep.

There is no rest for the wicked. Even happy and comfortable, it takes so much more before the small boy is ever able to sleep. The only time he ever slept in Sebastian's presence was when he drifted off in Seb's dorm room, after stalking him all the way back to Eton college. Jim doesn't do sleep, and he's got even more of a reason to fend it off now.

He stops humming as the nocturne ends. His throat feels dry and his breaths rasp. He can rest; he doesn't have to scrounge for food or walk half way around London. He'll be fine and he'll be there for Sebastian. It's the least he can do for the boy who has done so much for him.

\---

_Fingers stop playing on the keys and eyes peer up in wide blue wonderment of where the sound has gone. But the figure once looming like a shadow has disappeared from it's perch. The ivory protector stands open and the cushioned seat dips from weight but the air is still and empty. The staircase railings, to the ledge which peers down into the foyer; feet travel up the steps in search, moving down the length of corridor and peering into rooms. The library of swimming stars and constellations that can barely be named- Gemini, Aries - books lying pages open on desks and chairs and window perches, fluttering softly in the breeze that can not be felt. An out of place study where a familiar face, younger now, writes on a notepad and never glances up. A kitchen where dark hair has not begun to gray and green eyes are bright, shooing you away with bubbling laughter and french promises of tart._

_Down the hall which seems infinitely larger, repeated old paintings hang on the walls for decades. The muffled sound of clatter and rummage; hands, a teenager's hands with plaster and scuffed knuckles, pulling open the door to a familiar bedroom where figures of younger years dance like they are still in love. Skirts flutter as she tumbles because she still wears pretty dresses and it's beautiful when she twirls- she collapses to the floor and meaty fists cock back their elbows for a swing and this boy is too young and too large and his presence is out of place as reality starts to fumble. Stumbling back in frantic search to find a much taller figure in a fine suit, ungloved fingers dashing across pale, rosy cheek. Scrambling from the room, both hands slam the door, running down the hall to the next._

_Fingers pull open the door and the room is still; empty, yet so beautiful in golds and creamy whites and soft yellows. Frills and fresh flowers, a canopy bed where sheer fabric drapes elegantly to the floor. A soft creak of tightly woven silk under strain. A breeze washes in and flutters white curtains, feet taking slow steps towards the open doors as breath falls heavy from the chest. A knot tied around the balcony railing._

_The sun is bright and warm and makes sensitive eyes squint. Two hands rest on the flat stone ledge and on tip toes of leather shoes, a face peers over the ledge. A body sways with the wind, skirts dancing, long golden hair flowing freely. No sound comes from an open mouth. Frantic hands,- small boyish hands- utterly useless, desperately trying to pull on the rope of silk meant for decor. Chest aches. Hands pull and lungs heave and desperation drags backwards until the limp body is pulled from over the balcony lip. Tumbling backwards, heavy weight falls into tiny lap and when hands reach for a lifeless face, it is a young boy with jet black hair and fathomless dark eyes and soft lips which no longer scowl._

 

Sebastian startles.

\---

It's been quiet for hours now, but suddenly Sebastian is flinching and tensing. Jim's in his arms, which have become loose with sleep, facing the blond boy and searching for signs of dreams gone dark. Small hands lift up to cup a strong jaw, thumbing over rough stubble that's grown in even denser while he slept. Jim shushes softly with a delicacy he'd never use if the other boy was awake.

He's been doing equations in his head, and perhaps his vigil has suffered for it. Sebastian's life will only get worse, more dangerous and complicated with Jim in it, but the boy is too stubborn to give Seb up just yet. Let him have this week.

\---

He's awake. It's abrupt and his heart pounds but this is not new to him. Not the flavor of this dream nor the shock of suddenly being doused by reality from the chaotic images, though there are new faces amongst them now. Blue is open into the darkness, wide but not quite bewildered. There's weight near him, warmth against him and he knows who it is. He must have woken him. His good hand reaches up and finds another touching his face, covering it, pressing it against his skin.

He closes his eyes again, turning his cheek into the smaller palm, lips half hidden and slurring his utterance. "S'rry..." And it's the first time, but he doesn't notice. Sebastian sighs.

"Old visitors."

\---

As the warm hand slides over his and keeps it there against his face, Jim knows he's supposed to be the one comforting, but he can't help but feel his stomach flip like it's full of butterflies. He's just woken out of a deep slumber, from no doubt a dreadful dream and yet he instantly knows Jim, wants him close and seeks him out.

When he apologizes, Jim could sob; he could, but he doesn't. He can't really, not anymore. But it's so bittersweet. Sebastian has nothing to be sorry for, not a single thing in this world. It's everyone else who should be sorry. Jim's fingers curl in against Sebastian's cheek and his voice is a soft whisper.

"Tell me."

\---

To this, his eyes open and seek out Jim, darkness adjusting around them so he can make out young features on pale skin and stark shadows made by the faded light from the window. It's quiet for a moment, but his thoughts are not debates on whether to answer the request; rather, where might he begin. His fingers squeeze Jim's hand again softly but they linger there over the top of his because it's grounding and real, and when he wakes up alone he only has himself to pull out of the smog.

"Which part...?"

Sebastian shifts his cheek in Jim's palm, so that his lips are no longer half pressed to his skin. "The truth or the dream?"

\---

Jim's so small and fragile, but his face is the one where worry flashes, nearly imperceptible in the dark of the bedroom. He has no doubts Sebastian will tell him, not when he's so blatantly asked. The boy would probably tell Jim nearly anything when prompted, not that he wants to test it at the moment.

Jim wants everything of Sebastian, but he settles on one piece for now, cool fingertips still pressed to Seb's cheek. "Always the truth."

\---

Another sigh. This one is heavier, preparatory perhaps for a tale he doesn't really tell. It comes out disconnected and that's strange for a boy who likes stories.

"When I was young, we didn't live in London. We traveled to different places. I was about- must have been 9, when we settled in the house finally. My mother, she um-" He pressed his lips together. "Became difficult, as Augustus called it. Quiet and then loud all at once. She would spend hours in her room, days if you let her. It was before Eton, I was still being homeschooled so I was alone mostly." Which Jim could have figured out on his own, probably.

"I guess that's when I started writing in journals. It was something to do." Another pause and he takes a heavy breath, staring into the space between them where the dark was blackest.

"She got worse. I didn't really understand it then but she got s- ...smaller. There were days she would get out of bed and flutter around the house like she was excited to be well again. And then something- _something_ would upset her and she'd just cry. And _cry_. And eventually someone would take her back to her room."

One of the staff; Aveline usually. Sebastian always tried to make sure it wasn't Augustus. But it's another story, another matter.

"I must have been 10, somewhere in it. It was mid morning, summer. The weather was perfect and I hoped maybe..." Sebastian licks his lips.

"I went into her room and it was empty. I thought she might be waiting downstairs for me." His head shook once. "The doors were open, the wind was coming in; that must be why I noticed. I saw something on the balcony railing so I went out there and I must... I must have known. I'm not stupid. I _must_ have.

A pause hangs in the air like he's trying to make sense of something. But the memory is nothing but fact, not feeling. "I looked down over the balcony and she was... _hanging_ there. Swaying. It reminded me of the windchime outside the kitchen door." Which isn't there anymore.

"It was Tuesday. Im sure I screamed but the house was empty, the only person with me was Aveline. I guess she didn't hear me right away. I tried to pull her up, drag her back onto the balcony... I barely got her over the railing. Im not sure how I did."

A feat of strength fueled by adrenaline, it must have been. Sebastian is still but he can still feel her weight against him, how the sun basked across her skin and kept her deceptively warm. "When they took her, Augustus told me not to cry over her. She is weak.

He doesn't know what to believe. The burden of memory pushes out another sigh. Always the night he returns home- at least, it seems that way. Peppered in between his stay here in almost foreign and yet unchangingly familiar halls; dreams once held as nightmares. Now they are so common.

"I dream about it."

\---

Jim is quiet as Sebastian tells his story- if it could even be called that. Stories were generally pleasant or whimsical and this tale rings true, which makes it dark and painful. His dark eyes glitter in the near non-existent light, all his attention focused on Sebastian as he speaks. Jim doubts this is something his rugby mates know of; they aren't privileged to know his torments as well as his triumphs.

But Jim is allowed.

He has no words of comfort to instantly make the horrors that had happened to Sebastian soothed over and sweet. Nor does he want to. It’s raw and emotional, and it’s part of who Sebastian is. Which is oddly rather close to Jim's childhood; despite the glaring difference, it was similar down at their cores. Perhaps that's why he and Sebastian are so compatible.

Jim's hands slide from Sebastian's cheeks, down around the base of his neck, pulling his small body close till he is tucked up against Seb's neck in a tight embrace.

"You're not weak."

\---

He isn't expecting sympathy or comfort, nor does he particularly want it. People sometimes can't help themselves- that tone they get, the expression. That is probably the biggest reason he doesn't talk about it, although there are a few who know as much that his mother was dead. The how and why are his to keep, but Jim is not just anyone and Sebastian knows it won't change the way Jim treats him. No coddling, no pathetic tones and forced words of condolences. He expects Jim won't be using it against him, either.

But the hands which touch him and the body which cuddles against him is of a different soothing. Sebastian curls his arm around the smaller frame, his fingers flexing gently.

Is he weak? His thoughts flicker through himself with acknowledgement of who he is and what he has done. Damaged, but not weak. "No, I'm not."

He tilts his face closer to Jim's, cheek on fluffy black. "Neither are you."

\---

At that, Jim smiles, his lips curving against the warm skin of Sebastian's suprasternal notch. One of the most intriguing and wonderful things about Sebastian is that he respects the barely contained power within Jim, and sees it exactly for what it is. Dangerous.

"No, I'm not," he repeats, fingers stretching up just a bit to slip into the blond hair at Sebastian's nape. There, he kneads into the taut muscles knotted tight beneath his skull.

He is not weak, but he’s young. He has far to grow and so does Sebastian. Even if neither boy seems likely to live long into their adulthoods. That something dangerous that brews beneath the surface isn't only trouble for those around them. It will no doubt bring suffering upon themselves as well.

But for now, the world only consists of the two of them pressed together on the mattress, bare and vulnerable.

"You'll be greater than all of them. Because you have me."

\---

A smile plays on Sebastian's lips, warm and content and perhaps a bit smug.... Smug over Jim's opinion of him. Smug about Jim. That everyone in the world who might overlook that small frame and those dark eyes are fools but he is not. He sees what so many are afraid of, too afraid to look past; he is willingly caught in the viper's grip while everyone else is poisoned. He has Jim to stand behind and it’s frighteningly clear how far he will go.

"You are already greater than they will ever be."

He whispers into Jim's hair, hand sliding up smooth back, fingers caressing the center where notches could be felt with minute pressure. Too thin and yet perfect. Cruel but forgiving of him. Dangerous. Clever- more than just clever, he is brilliant. He has his hands around Sebastian's throat and yet gives him life. It’s obsession.

Perhaps if he had never met Jim, he would have been fine. Exactly what everyone expected him to be. But he is better for it- better for him. In a hush of breath, Sebastian utters.

"I am yours."

\---

Jim is smug as well. Vain to the very end and it has little to do with his looks. He likes when his greatness is recognized, despite its small package. So when Sebastian acknowledges him, it brings a warmth down to his very core. He hums, soft and lazy as Sebastian's fingers press up along his spine, the thick, rough fingers a delicious contrast to the smooth, cool skin. There is no rush to it and Jim savors it for now, the need and burn put to rest after a week of waiting.

He understands Sebastian's baser needs, the physical appeal of a willing body pressed flush against another. Words drag free of dry lips, purring into his hair. It’s a whisper but it’s quiet enough in the room to hear a pin drop. There is no mistaking those words.

Jim's breath hitches, almost imperceptible. He can't read too much into it, doesn't dare to. It's pillow talk. They're naked and pressed together and things like that flow free from lips and tongues when you're in such a state. Promises are made on top of promises.

But Jim’s life is made of lies. He can lie to himself and pretend it's true.

"I know." It's soft and nearly buried against Sebastian's skin. Jim doesn't do sentiment. He won't let himself fall into a trap he can't easily get back out of. But he kisses Sebastian's throat and arches against his solid body and it should be enough.

\---

Sebastian doesn't need sentiments and promises. It's enough for Jim to hear him, acknowledge it was said. Did he know already- Just how serious his fixation.is? He must. Jim is too clever not to notice when Sebastian barely makes it a secret, chasing after him as he does. Everyone else may as well be blind; he doesn't care. Jim sees him and he sees Jim, on whatever level it is that they meet.

Perhaps it is madness. A sickness. Maybe it will kill him. Maybe Jim will, when his usefulness runs out and he stops being clever enough to entertain him. He is already in a trap, waiting for that viper to squeeze.

Sebastian's hand settles still around Jim, falling limp in his touch. He is still tired and it’s creeping up on him again quickly, subdued so frighteningly easy by the touch of lips and closeness he never knew he needed. He mumbles into Jim's hair again, as if Jim couldn't figure it out plenty well enough.

"I'm falling asleep."

And still he does not know that Jim has not.

\---

Jim shifts back a bit, resting his head on Sebastian's shoulder so that he can look up at the older boy. He can't make out much but he can see lines smooth out in that roughly handsome face and lashes fall down to smudge tanned cheeks. The boy's sleepy slur is adorable and makes Jim smile.

"Then sleep." He chuckles softly, a giggle really. Jim's not going anywhere and he'll do his best to fend off any more bad dreams. It's not completely possible but he can try his best, winding fingers through fine blond hair in a lazy stroke. It's soothing and Jim feels that calm seep into his bones.

"My Sebastian," He murmurs softly, and its sweet and gentle, in this world of theirs.

\---

It’s a lazy sort of smile that twitches in his muscles, making a small noise at the back of his throat in something of a hum.

He’s drifting in and out for a while, awake and not really awake, tired and yet subconsciously fighting it. Eventually, he falls back asleep, when the sky is just barely starting to lighten up the horizon beyond the windows. He rests peaceful for the remainder of the dawning morning, quiet and still. The nice thing about being home is that no one bothers them; no alarms or knocks on the door. The room is theirs and the rest of the world is not allowed inside- at least for a little while.

\---

Jim wiggles free after a few hours and finds his discarded sleep trousers, tugging them up over his thin hips. He roots around Sebastian's room till he finds a pair of binoculars and sits himself in the older boy's window, peering through the lens up into the pre-dawn sky beyond the glass. Venus and Mars are in alignment and can actually be seen in the sky through only the weak aid.

The journal Sebastian has been writing in is fetched from the bedside and Jim flips towards the last page that's been written on, sketching out the shape of the planets and their moons before the sun rises completely and they are lost. Sebastian's breathing behind him is even and quiet, and he quickly becomes absorbed in the heavens above, the world below fading to a dull echo at the edge of his perception.

\---

It’s probably mid morning when Sebastian rolls over on the bed, sprawling onto his stomach and curling arms lazily around his pillow, sighing as he starts to come around into consciousness. It’s a quiet Saturday, which means the only people in the house are Nigel, Henry and Aveline- assuming she returned this morning. But Sebastian is scarcely awake yet and can't consider much of anything as he tries to convince himself not to fall back asleep.

He’s warm and definitely not wearing anything. There’s also no one next to him, or half draped on him, for that matter. He seems to notice this first, although horribly sluggish about it, lifting his messy blond head and prying blue eyes open to blink several times before he glances over his shoulder at the empty spot next to him. All he manages is a slur of consonants, "Jm?"

\---

After his sketching session, the sun has risen and blotted out the planets, so Jim has taken up reading the rest of the journal. As the hours tick by, he finds himself tugging more leather bounds from the shelf, and lays in the center of a circle of them on the floor, absorbing pages and pages of information.

At the sound of Sebastian's slurred voice, Jim pops up, peering over the foot of the bed at the other boy. He hums and pulls himself up onto the bed, climbing over the duvet and Sebastian himself till he’s situated up on top of the blond, straddling his lower back and sitting on the older boy's arse. "You sleep too long."

\---

Sebastian huffs a few breaths as the bed jostles and Jim crawls on top of him, taking perch like it was a perfectly normal thing to do. But Jim is funny that way, doing as he pleases and getting away with it; especially with Sebastian. His cheek drops back into his pillow and the Moran heir groans loudly, tufts of golden hair flipping every which way, poking him in the forehead.

"I can go back to sleep." He teases, voice heavy with drowse and dryness.

\---

"Don't you dare," whines Jim, slapping Sebastian's lower back and bouncing a bit on his perch. He stretches out and lays himself entirely across the blond's back, smothering him. Or at least attempting to.

"You've fallen asleep on me twice, if you do it again, I'm going to start to suspect you think I'm boring." He wriggles up and bites at Sebastian's shoulder, gnawing at the broad bone ineffectively.

\---

That little whine in his voice is adorable and Sebastian has to laugh, even more so at the antics of bouncing the bed and sprawling and biting. He turns his face into the pillow and chuckles, torso shuddering with the effort, shaking his head until he has to breathe and lifts his head back up, glancing as best he can over his shoulder- which isn't very well, with Jim laying out on him as he is.

"Impossible." He's smiling and maybe he's stupid enough to enjoy how simple it is. "You should just be sleeping _with_ me."

\---

Jim feels the chuckle vibrate through the both of them and gives up his assault for now, smooshing his cheek against the shoulder that's been mauled with teeth and nails now. His body molds comfortably against Sebastian's back, though the duvet is a barrier he'd rather do without. At the blond's words, Jim goes silent and still for a moment, then asks, a dangerous question, but one that needs asking.

"And how many other people have you slept _with_?"

\---

Well, that isn't what he means by that, at all. But there it is and it’s Jim asking so he should know better than to dodge the question. He hasn't an idea what sort of jealous streak Jim might have, if any at all. It’s hard to imagine him caring much and yet... maybe not. He suspects Jim has ideas- thoughts, suspicions- whatever you want to call them. After all, he's clever.

Sebastian isn't embarrassed or ashamed, but his stomach still does a small flip considering whether or not Jim will get angry.

" _Slept_ " He specifies a difference with emphasis. "Including you, three. Once was an accident. It was more like passed out."

\---

And just like that, Jim's gone. It's not the answer he’s looking for and Sebastian knows it. The Irish boy rolls off of Sebastian and the bed completely, snags his borrowed tee shirt and tugs it over his head in one fluid motion. He's out of the bedroom in another. He abandons Sebastian to his smug little snark and hopes it keeps him company throughout the day, because Jim certainly isn't.

Padding down stairs, Jim heads for the kitchen in search of something else to occupy himself, or at least make a cup of tea. The threat of Aveline does not worry him in the slightest, she's all gasps and softness, and that sort of thing doesn't have any place outside of a bedroom.

\---

Jim's gone and Seb just lays there until he's out the door, head turned to see him go. He can't tell what the anger is at- the answer or the half of it. Did he want all of them? The specifics? Or did he want the answer to be none?

And there is a distinction. Because _sleeping_ with someone is far more intimate a thing to him than fucking them. And is it any wonder with troublesome nights. But he knows what Jim meant.

Sebastian sighs and drops his face into the pillow. It's several minutes before he finally gets out of bed, crawling- oozing- to stalk off to the washroom for relief and a shower.

Downstairs, Aveline is in the kitchen already prepping lunch. Nigel seems to be missing and Henry is rarely seen anyway, as it were. It's quiet in the house and this is the usual state of things. Only Aveline's clink and clatter of kitchenware makes much noise.

\---

Jim saunters into the kitchen as if he owns it, moving over to the fancy electric kettle to begin boiling the water for tea. He doesn't acknowledge Aveline; she's dropped back down to background noise after last night.

It takes him half a moment to discern where the tea cups are and then from there, the tea bags and milk from the ice box. He's stoic and calm on the surface, betraying none of the agitation that brews beneath the surface, steeping like the tea he's preparing.

\---

Aveline startles when he appears and stays frozen for a time, watching him as her food sits half prepared on the cutting boards. After a short while, where he seems more or less harmless, she begins to relax and softly clears her throat.

"Is there anything I can get you?”

\---

"No." Comes his simple reply, and he hasn't looked up from his task once. He can feel her stare boring into his back and it's something he's familiar with. He pours a bit of milk into the cup once the tea has steeped for a few minutes, but doesn't bother with sugar, hefting the cup to his lips and taking a long sip. It's still hot, but the burn is more than welcomed as it slides across his tongue and throat.

\---

The shirt is too big and it shows off the marks left behind on slender neck and collarbone. Aveline's eyes linger here in her stun, marks too sharp and numerous to be normal teenage antics and yet it also confirms her suspicions about the nature between them. Sebastian has yet to appear at all.

Her hands are shaking when she returns to her preparation, quietly speaking up again, trying not to let her voice falter. "I meant to ask... If you like eggs?"

\---

At that, Jim does turn, arching an eyebrow as she continues to perpetuate the conversation. It's....odd. Why she cares what he likes to eat after he assaulted her precious Sebastian and will no doubt continue to do so. And yet he stands here swaddled in the older boy's clothing, his violence and destruction chosen over her soft, doting nature.

"Eggs are acceptable." Jim is not a vegetarian by any sense of the word, despite his preferred diets of white meat and fish. He finds the concept ridiculous and eggs are a good, cheap protein he often partakes in.

\---

She nods but while not looking at him, she speaks a quiet, "Alright."

She's stiff and it makes her movements a bit disjointed. "And soups?" If she were talking to anyone else, she might have mentioned how Sebastian favors them.

\---

Jim narrows his eyes and watches her for a moment longer, then turns and leaves without another word. She is scared to death of him and that's fine, it really is. But he's not going to stand and attempt pleasant conversation with a woman who would probably scream and jump out of her skin if he yelled ‘boo’. Torturing Sebastian's house staff sounds fun, yes, but not if he's trapped here for a week with them.

He takes his tea out to the back garden and walks till he finds the pond, then rolls his ridiculously long trousers up to his knees and slips his feet into the water. Fish come and nibble at his toes every now and then; they aren't afraid of him and it's nice.

\---

He's quiet and Aveline glances over her shoulder to realize he's leaving, but she makes no protest and tries to come to her own decision on the matter. At least she knew what else was safe for breakfast; assuming they ever came down for it.

 

Upstairs, Sebastian eventually gets out of the shower and half dresses before padding over to his window and nudging it open to the early noon. It's been a day or so and he needs a cigarette, preferring that his room didn't smell of it when Augustus came around eventually. He broods through the smoke and snuffs it out in a little decor item on a table next to him where other butts get left until a maid notices. He suspects at least one has caught on to the stash because it gets emptied between his home stays.

He goes to brush his teeth and finds the personal items meant for Jim still on his desk, taking them into the washroom counter and putting them neatly together like an offering.

Eventually he gets downstairs and pops up in the kitchen, wearing a shirt at least, but the marks are still peeking on tan flesh at the collar and Aveline can see them when he approaches the cabinet to fetch a mug. He doesn't notice she startles when he mutters "good morning" as he enters, glancing over at her as he closes the cupboard. She smiles, strained and goes back to her preparations. It isn't unusual for him to be quiet as he's waking up, pouring himself coffee from the pot.

"James was in here a bit ago..." she mentions quietly and Sebastian glances up.

"He'll be here all week. Best you get used to it." It's direct and almost placing, unlike his usual tone with her, making her stare after his back as he plops a couple sugars into his coffee and stirs.

\---

The teacup is eventually drained and wandering about the world in one's pajamas isn’t the best idea, so Jim makes his way back inside. The sun was peeking through the clouds anyways, for once and he has no intentions of burning and being miserable.

His trek brings him back through the kitchen, and he moves to Sebastian's side. Upset or not, it's the only place in this strange house he fits.

"She's making eggs," he murmurs, which is funny in itself, because it's not like he's going to eat it. He can navigate the kitchen just fine and he'll scrounge up what he can on his own. He's not going to be indebted to anyone, especially not someone who looks at him like that.

\---

Jim appears at his side and he's dreadfully quiet about it until he speaks. Sebastian glances down and watches him for a moment, a smile there on his lips even when he has to consider that not all is forgiven just because he's here. He's startled Aveline again and Moran doesn't even notice.

"A fry-up." Sebastian confirms after giving her layout a glance. There were additives of more greenery than usual, a bowl of fresh fruit already cut up. It is not breakfast anymore, but it rarely is and the house accommodates to the younger master when Augustus isn't around to enforce scheduling. Sebastian sleeps too late in the days he can, although it was on Jim's request he didn't now.

"It's usually what you want when you come home."

Aveline confirms and she's trying her best to sound normal. Blue eyes on her for a moment, then he touches Jim's upper arm as he turns to step out of the kitchen and leave her to it or god forbid she cut herself shaking.

\---

Jim takes the cue as it's given and follows Sebastian out of the kitchen. Part of him wants to leave entirely and go back to his hovel where it’s cold and empty but at least no one looks at him like that. He hasn't said more than a handful of words to her and none of them cruel yet she believes him to turn a knife on her next.

He stares at Sebastian's back and takes in the damp hair and smell of cigarettes. He scrunches his nose in distaste, but isn't going to say anything. It’s a vice that existed before Jim did in Sebastian's life and Jim's not going to start nitpicking those or there will be nothing of the boy left.

\---

Sebastian isn't worried about Aveline. She was nervous around Augustus for a day or so as well until she figured out what held his temper off was not getting in between an argument with him and Sebastian. This wasn't much different. Not at all.

The blond considers going to the library, but he glances at Jim along the way and stops mid hall to turn to him instead.

\---

Jim stops short suddenly when Sebastian turns around and he stiffens, realizing he's just been uselessly tagging along like a puppy. He scowls, and slipping back into Jim is easy.

"I hate this place." It’s not a surprise, Jim hates everything.

\---

Sebastian tilts his head up a bit when Jim scowls his words. No, he isn't surprised. If he's learned a thing in his time around Jim, it was the difference between night and day.

"Do you want to leave?"

And he doesn't want him to but he tries to contain that desperation from his tone and he's not very successful. If Sebastian hates anything at the moment, it's that idea, but if it's Jim's desire, it will be done.

\---

Jim presses his lips together and stares up at Sebastian. At this distance, he has to crane his head back quite a bit. Not only the tone, but the older boy's face conveys how much he doesn't want Jim to leave. But he's not going to say that because he'll do it. He'd do anything Jim asked and it's ridiculous because Jim is quite possibly insane. Jim hates the world, its people, and this house. But he doesn't hate Sebastian.

"No." He says simply, shrugging his shoulders as if it’s nothing and he hasn't been completely selfish for once.

\---

There silence to that and his face does not reflect the relief that maybe should have been there. Sebastian is smart, most of the time. But other times, he's a bit stupid. Or maybe the right word is dense because he subconsciously makes decisions that are stupid, as if to spite how smart he was.

His chin lowers again, almost as if he were going to glance away and yet, his eyes stay on Jim.

"Are you angry?" They don't often ask things blatantly. Jim did this morning.

\---

Jim's tongue darts out and wets his lip. It's a stupid question, Jim is always angry. Rage fuels his body far better than the lack of food and sleep does. Jim is anger embodied in a physical form, not that you'd ever expect it to be so short. Yes, Jim is angry. The answer will always be the same. But.

"I'm not angry." Because he's not angry at Sebastian and that's more than likely all the older boy cares about.

\---

He should take this answer and move on. Leave it alone. He knows he should. In the back of his mind, he acknowledges 'you're an idiot, Moran.' But before they move from their spot in the middle of the hall, he answers.

"Eleven." There's a pause. "Four of them were stupid girls from parties over holiday. The others at Eton. I count about half because the rest just sucked me off when they were sloshed and we never speak of it."

\---

It's not possible for Jim to pale anymore. He's already lily white, so when he blanches, it's not very noticeable. His fingers work rapidly at his sides, hitting invisible keys at a frantic pace. That's a big number, considering Jim's only partner is standing across from him. And the way he says it; they don't even matter.

"Oh," he says softly, blinking his thick lashes once. His stomach churns a bit and he turns his face to the side. Jim has no place in judging, Sebastian was free to do what he pleased. Who he pleased. Jim suddenly feels very inadequate, well perhaps not suddenly, it's never really been his area. "Impressive." He says flatly.

\---

"No it isn't," he responds immediately, the words almost blending together as he shakes his head. He isn't ashamed, no, but he’s neither boastful nor proud about it. He was practically over confident because he knew he was desired by others; handsome, well educated, a bit mysterious and people ate that right up. But the one thing he enjoys is the thing everyone overlooks.

"Impressive is the way you play." He nods his head down the hall where the piano was. "Eleven is just a number."

And it doesn't matter now because it’s down to one.

\---

Jim follows Sebastian's nod towards the piano, letting his gaze linger there for a moment.

"Everyone has a special talent." He murmurs, head tilting slowly, almost predatory. There is no prey here at this moment. Not yet. Sebastian hasn't let himself drop to that level.

"What's yours?"

He knows Sebastian writes, knows he plays rugby, knows he charms his way out of any situation. But he wants to hear from the boy himself, what he considers a talent. Not what everyone else thinks of him.

\---

Sebastian considers this for a minute, hands slipping into the pockets of his denims as his eyes gaze into an empty spot thoughtfully.

"I like to write..." They both know that already. "But that's not what I’m meant to do."

 _Meant to_ is a strange way to say it because there are a lot of things he is _supposed_ to do and many things he can do very well, but none of them are what he considers a talent either.

He shakes his head and returns his eyes to Jim. "I don't think I've found it yet."

\---

Jim steps closer, demanding Sebastian's attention once again, which has wandered too far. He stares at the blond, who has lived so long not caring that it has seeped into his very being. It won't do for that magnificence to go to waste. Jim doesn't tolerate the idle. The useless. That pretty face and deep pockets mean absolutely nothing to Jim in the long run.

"Find it." It's something of an order. Most of the things Jim tells Sebastian are.

\---

A smile quirks up in the corner of his mouth and he nods, as if the gesture should be followed by a firm; _Yes Sir._

There are a million things out in the world left for him to discover, though he knows the path which is laid out in front of him in his immediate future. Oxford. He's already sent out the application and there's no reason for him to be turned away unless he actually manages to be expelled in the next couple of months. He wonders for a second if he should be telling Jim this. Would university discover anything for him? Hard to think so. He isn't even sure what he’ll be going for. For all the praise of Eton, he’s aimless in his goals. Perhaps because he knows what comes after Oxford.

His attention is full on Jim again, watching a little longer before making another proposal. "The day is yours. What are we doing?"

\---

Jim considers, while reaching out and running a hand up along Sebastian's chest, picking lint from his shirt. Sebastian has accepted that Jim makes the rules and the plans here, content just to follow behind the younger boy.

"You are going to eat breakfast while I get dressed. And then we'll continue from there."

\---

"You're not?" He questions on the subject of breakfast, eyes trailing over Jim's outstretched arm. He has accepted this role because Jim does as he pleases and only so. And maybe some part of him wishes he could be just the same. The moment he stepped foot on the premises, he'd stalked off to explore as he desired. As they walked through the hall, he directed himself to the piano as he desired. Thus far, there was not a note of regret for simply following along with what Jim dictated, verbally or not so. He likes to think it keeps Jim happy... or at least placated. And that seems to keep him nearby.

\---

"No. I won't be eating anything your cook prepares." With that he draws his hand back and turns on his heel, heading upstairs towards the bedroom to sort through Sebastian's old clothing and find something acceptable to wear.

It's a hard task, because Sebastian is so much bigger, even in his younger years. The denims are loose, as are the jumpers but Jim's used to that. The clothing is nicer than he's accustomed to and suited more for Sebastian's colouring but Jim really hasn't had any style that was his own for years. It's better than the dingy rags he's been wearing though and he carries his selections into the loo and finds the little pile of offerings Sebastian had procured for him. He smiles as he makes use of them.

\---

Maybe he wants to protest but he doesn't. He just furrows brow and watches Jim head for the stairs, disappearing as he ascends. Sebastian hums softly, conceding to the fact there was nothing he could particularly do about the other boy's eating habits except give him every opportunity to do so. If that meant he had to nix Aveline from the equation, he would. Somehow. Neither of them were helpless after all, although it was easy to think so of the heir given his upbringing. Despite its reputation, Eton does not tolerate boys being wholly helpless in matters of daily life.

He turns back down the hall and dips into the kitchen to see about the state of breakfast, which is by now, nearly ready. He bids Aveline to put away the fruit and takes his plate to the dining room, sitting at the table which is pointlessly long considering they never really have guests enough to fill it.

\---

Once Jim has cleaned up and dressed in denims and a blue jumper that makes his eyes appear the proper brown they are, he heads back downstairs to the dining room where Sebastian is still eating. He pushes his way into the older boy's lap and curls on his thighs, staking his claim. Sebastian is his, he doesn't belong to the staff of his house or even his family any longer. He is solely Jim's.

He does eat, but only by stealing a few bites from Sebastian's fork before it makes it's way to his mouth. This is taking from Seb directly, and therefore is acceptable by his logic.

\--

Sebastian makes no argument about Jim putting himself in his lap and as usual, he accommodates accordingly to eat around him. After the first bite is stolen from him, he feigns a sort of shock and wordless indignance about it, but there's always a smile somewhere in his expression. By the time he's done, he smiling fully.

The dining room is bright with light pouring in from windows and doors which lead out into the gardens. The doors to the kitchen are open and Sebastian doesn't particularly notice that Aveline has been watching them in her cleaning; it must be hard to imagine this is the same pair when a night before, one of these boys had a knife to the other's throat.

Sebastian sets his fork down on the plate, leaving but a corner of toast lightly jammed. With Jim in his lap, he has to be first to move, so the blond sips the last of his room temperature coffee and nudges the cup aside.

\--

Stolen food tastes exceptionally better, so he continues it because Sebastian may act shocked, but he keeps Jim right there in his lap and that's acceptance enough. He takes that last bit of toast and nibbles at it, tilting his head back against Seb's chest. He glances over at Aveline as she stares while scrubbing a counter and there is a flicker of smugness tugging the corner of his mouth upwards.

Finally, when Sebastian has set down his coffee cup, Jim goes back to ignoring the rest of the world and set his focus on the older boy, who has willingly become his chair.

"What is there to do around here? What do you do for fun? Leave?"

\--

"You'll be dreadfully bored unless we do." He admits, although he guesses so much that his usual pastimes were not too far from Jim's.

"I usually read. Or write. Go into the city and see a film... or all of them." Jim had indeed chosen a stack of books in the study as well. "Camp, once in a while. I prefer to read outside."

It’s a short list of what he bothers to do on his holidays, at least when none of the Eton boys came knocking for one reason or another. He can't guarantee they won't pop up at some point either, looking to pull Sebastian out for a party. After all, Eton boys are starved for female attention as a rule.

So why did he drag Jim out here to spend his holiday with him? Because he selfishly wants more time with him, of course.

\---

Jim drapes his arms around Sebastian's neck and himself over the older boy's chest, considering. He doesn't really care about the cinemas, the culture of today was boorish and awful to Jim. And god forbid an Eton boy show up at the door and demand Sebastian go trolling for skirts at a party. The neighborhood would be leveled.

Camping sounded nice though, laying under the stars with Sebastian, reading books and further ignoring the rest of the world.

"Camping sounds good. Have you a tent? Will we share a sleeping roll and cuddle up?" He scoffs and lifts a hand, shoving at Sebastian's face with a snicker.

\---

Sebastian laughs, letting his head tilt all the way back where it met no back cushion because his posture is trained and he is already so tall. His throat is exposed almost obscenely, marks from Jim's mouth on proud display above his usual choice of v-neck.

"Yes, we will. And you'll hate every moment of it but you'll tolerate me because I'm warm and the nights are freezing."

\---

Jim can't help but crawl up onto his knees to assault that neck once it comes into view, nipping and biting at the exposed skin. He doesn't care who is watching, because word has surely already been sent off to Sebastian's father and Jim isn't going to hide who he is and what he wants to do.

"Absolute torture," he mouths against Sebastian's throat, slinking his hands up into the older boy's hair. "Will you hunt and fish for me like a proper Englishman? Or do they only teach you useless skills at Eton, like getting your cock sucked?" His fingers tug almost cruelly at Sebastian's hair. But he's still smiling.

\---

Sebastian is convinced already that Nigel has told Augustus all he needs to know to get irritated, as if Sebastian hasn't built up a catalogue over the weeks. What more harm could he really do beyond that?

So he unabashedly enjoys Jim's public attention on his neck, making a little noise when his hair was pulled because it is a proclivity he didn't fully realize until Jim came along. A grin lights up his features, quieted laugh making his adam's apple dance along his stretched throat. Hands find Jim's hips, the good one half under the hem of blue jumper.

"As a matter of fact, we used to hunt. I'll bring a rifle."

\---

Jim watches that throat bob and he leans in to lick a stripe across it, keeping his grip on the older boy's hair, which is really the perfect length for pulling. He has a much fiercer need to mark Sebastian up, until there is no doubt who he belongs to and those eleven before are not even a memory, they've been so obliterated.

The picture of Sebastian with a rifle slung over his shoulder is nice, but the portrait of him killing something for Jim is absolute decadence. It appeals to the younger boy in a way that can't possibly be healthy. Sebastian's done it before and though Jim is trying to keep Seb from dwelling on it, the fact excites him. Sebastian will kill for him and it's not just some singular incident. He'll do it again.

Jim rolls his hips slowly under the touch of Sebastian's hand and his voice is a velvet, thick Irish purr against Sebastian's skin.

"Then don't keep me waiting, Moran."

\---

His eyes almost, almost close because that voice digs right into his skin and he can scarcely stand it. As much as he would have liked to sit there just so and enjoy Jim's attention, his hand sneaking a little higher to find a touch of skin his fingers can brush against, Jim has just given him an order. And orders are meant to be followed.

Still, it's half wistful how he sighs the truth. "I can't do anything from the chair, Jim." But the silent divine knows he doesn't want the brunet to move, either.

\---

Jim's teeth are grazing over the older boy's windpipe and it's such a delicate spot, just a snap of a jaw with proper force and he could rip out the entire throat. And that possibility is there, always lurking beneath the surface. Venom seeps into his voice on top of that velvet and Jim isn't some young, teenage boy, but a threat, living violence and danger.

"Pity you can't figure out how to get up from a chair, isn't it?

\---

Funny how venom doesn't deter him the way it should. The way it would anyone else, who would shiver at the sound of it- like fangs sinking down into the skin and spreading death slowly through the veins. Jim is dangerous and he likes it. Sebastian just breathes carefully.

"I don't have _permission_ to get up."

\---

Jim laughs and it's like nails across glass.

"Permission? Sebastian Moran needs _permission_ to get out of a chair?" He slides down so he's sitting more solidly on the older boy's lap, arches an eyebrow and just rocks. His whole body is a sinuous line as he rolls against Sebastian, never breaking his gaze as it bores into the blond.

"All those big strong muscles and you're afraid to just push me off? ...or are you just playing for time because you think I might do something about that prick filling out your denims?"

\---

Blond head lowers back down and blue eyes land on Jim with a distinct, antagonized stare. There's a pause of stillness between them where Sebastian scans Jim's face and neck and chest peaking above the jumper collar. When they return to Jim's dark eyes, he moves. His poor hand reaches around the small figure in his lap and in one controlled motion, sends plate, mug and silverware sliding off the table where it hits the expensive rug with a crash and shatter of old china. His good hand has a grip on Jim's waist already and he stands up, chair pushed with the back of his knees, dropping Jim atop the wooden table and pressing his shoulders back against the polished surface with his left fingertips. He leans on his good hand and eyes Jim again, inclining closer and voice low.

"No. I just like it when you boss me around." A grin tugs at one corner.

\---

As the dishes clatter to the floor and smash, Jim's pulse jumps into his throat in excitement but he's not so boring that he flinches. Instead, he's thrilled, perhaps even a bit giddy as Sebastian shifts and pushes him onto the table, then down on its surface. Tongue traces the backs of his teeth and there is a fire in his eyes, glimmering behind those dark pools. Sebastian may like Jim bossing him around but Jim likes it when he finally is pushed far enough to throw his weight around.

He reaches up and grabs a fistful of Sebastian's shirt, pulling him even closer and hissing between clenched teeth. "Then kiss me now, Moran, or I'll castrate you with that butter knife you knocked onto the floor."

\---

There's about no gentleness in the way he kisses Jim, just a grin that gets swallowed up by the bruising meet of their lips. Passion pulses under his skin where Jim flows through his veins as a dangerous thrill. Temptation he's too enthralled to stay away from. He doesn't notice at all when Aveline skitters back into the kitchen after peeking out about the noise and catching the teenagers lip locked on the table. Her entire perception has been rolled over in a days time; she's never seen the golden haired heir be quite so boorish in behavior.

Sebastian elbows the table with his busted arm and it's the only way he can get a hand in Jim's hair, a knee at the edge of the table between Jim's legs to keep him from sliding off.

\---

It's teeth and tongue that meet Sebastian's kiss, bruising into the embrace that's given because Jim willed it so. If skittering, delicate cooks are fretting at their display, they’d best not bring up any discontent about the situation or they'll quickly find life considerably less pleasant.

Jim bites at the scar he's given to Sebastian, no qualms about breaking open healed tissue as he pleases. The blond's body is a canvas for him to paint and tear as he wants, no permission required. Finally, however, he breaks the kiss suddenly and sucks on his lower lip, leaning back on the tabletop and staring up at Sebastian through half lidded eyes.

"Tick tock. You're out of the chair now, aren't you?"

\---

There's amusement in his eyes as he pushes up to full stretch of his right arm, looking down at Jim as he slides his tongue across his lip and graces the abused scar tissue. A moment later, he's standing at full height and glances over the length of the Irish brunet's torso before grinning.

"So I am."

He takes a step back and strolls off from the table to fetch the kit, leaving broken china on the floor and Jim on the table.

\---

Jim doesn't watch Sebastian leave, he's far too busy trying to control his breathing and will he blood to redirect from between his legs. Finally, when he's managed to compose himself somewhat, he climbs to his feet and looks around at the mess Sebastian made. The smashed porcelain might as well be Jim and the thought is thrilling. The pair of them are completely mad but Jim can't find himself caring.

He slides away from the table and heads for the kitchen, finding Aveline trying her best to look unnoticeable in the corner, doing the washing up.

"I need a lunch box with some bottled water and snacks. Is that plausible for you? Whatever Sebastian likes, some sandwiches, crisps. Things that can be eaten on the go." He could care less if his mouth is kiss swollen and red and his jumper a wrinkled mess.

\---

She doesn't jump this time and perhaps that's something. She looks up and turns to nod at the request, eyes not lingering on Jim for long because she's still trying to wrap her head around the upturned understanding she once had.

"Certainly." She's swift about it.

 

Upstairs Sebastian steps into his father's personal study, a room dotted with stuffed hunting trophies and his favorite decor; a rack of fine rifles, old and new. A display of rapiers, college degree and plaques and pictures worth bragging about. Sebastian rolls his eyes around the room but there's nothing new added for quite some years and he doesn't stick around to investigate.

When he approaches the display of rifles, he runs his fingers along the smallest of them in familiarity. It's been a while... years since they went out. It was the only particular activity they did together once upon a time. He doesn't miss it because Augustus has always been barely tolerable to be around, even doing something he loves and trying to pass it down to his son. The man doesn't know how to be pleasant.

Sebastian chooses his father's favorite rifle, half out of spite and half because it's the best of them and he's heard long winded explanations about why. He didn't often get to shoot anything when they were hunting; Augustus always preferred to be the one potting down defenseless creatures, animal or not. Sebastian was usually there to listen to his stories and clean the kills, do the work that hadn't the glory of the catch. But he learned plenty that way and it was something active, so he didn't hate it.

After inspection over the older gun, he slings the strap over shoulder and goes about finding the bullets in the drawers beneath, collecting a few things before going back to his room to make sure they had cover enough to keep them from freezing even if they weren't cuddled in a bedroll.

\---

Leaving Aveline to her task, Jim explores wardrobes and closets until he finds an old army duffel and brings it to the library to stuff a few of the books he'd selected yesterday. Then he heads up to Sebastian's room to collect the things for his star chart. He runs into Sebastian up there, rifle strapped over his shoulder and his pulse kicks right back up. He looks so rugged and feral like this, layers of posh breeding and Eton etiquette fracturing away.

But Jim's not entirely made of hormones, so he just shoots Sebastian a heavy, heated gaze before finding his trainers and pulling them on, then stuffing some more supplies into the duffle.

\---

Jim has not been idle and he flashes the other teenager a grin as he plops a heavier jacket on the bed for him.

"Any room for that?" He asks of Jim's space and goes about folding another tightly to stuff in the camping bag he's pulled, the tent strapped to the bottom proper. It must have been last year when he'd gone out, usually only for a day or so. Sebastian also throws his pen and leather into one of the outer pockets.

\---

Jim sets down the duffel and begins shoving the thick coat into the bag, climbing half onto it so he can squish it down enough to zip it back up. He huffs when he's finished and swings his legs over, sitting on the bag while he watches Sebastian finish packing.

He's actually excited- Jim's never gone camping, never done anything of the sort unless you call living in his scummy flat roughing it.

"Where are we going? Not just your back garden I hope."

\---

Sebastian laughs lightly. "Yes. Somehow deer get over the stone and I'm going to shoot one for you."

And honestly, he would if somehow they managed but it's not bloody possible.

"A little farther out is open wood. There's a few official campsites out there but that's not where we are going. It's about 20 minutes car to the wood and an hour and a half on foot to my usual spot." He grins. "Is that satisfying?"

\---

Jim couldn't have stopped the grin from spreading over his face if he tried. Something about the way Sebastian said that, how he was going to shoot something just for Jim, was immensely satisfying. He wasn't hung up on the beauty of nature and all its creatures that filled up and polluted the world. Jim only cared about what floated above, in the sky. Death granted you a chance to be among the stars permanently, so there was no greater honor you could bestow upon man or animal.

"Absolutely satisfying. If you're up for the hike of course. Hopefully all those muscles aren't just for show." He stands up and tugs the duffel over a shoulder, swaying a bit under its weight. "Let's go be satisfied then."

\---

Sebastian zips up the bag and pulls it onto his shoulder as well, wavering not at all under the weight as he stands tall.

"Hopefully, neither are yours." He gives Jim a teasing glance over and turns for the bedroom door. It’s Saturday, Henry would be out cleaning the cars and the car park, as was weekly ritual.

When they hit the bottom of the stairs, Nigel is stepping out of the study in the hall, probably for lunch.

"Ah, Sebastian." He pauses when giving the pair a look over. "We are off, I see."

"The house is dull, Nigel. We are going to the wood." Sebastian stops as if he expects there to be more and he isn't wrong.

"With your father's rifle, I notice." The butler nods his head curiously.

"Don't worry Nigel, I won't be shooting myself in the leg. I do remember how to use it."

He was given one of those conceding nods. "Of course. And when will you be returning? Your father would like to speak with you."

Sebastian shifts the weight on his shoulders and tilts his chin up, looking arrogant as ever. "When we feel like it. Augustus can wait, It's rude not to entertain your guests."

Another nod. "Very well."

\---

Jim falls in step behind Sebastian, shoving at the pack he’s wearing to send him vaulting forwards.

"I've got enough muscles to take care of you." He reminds, but not without his own grin. As they hit the bottom of the stairs and Nigel stops to sniff at them and droll on, Jim rolls his eyes and worms his way around Sebastian to stand before him instead, dark eyes glaring the entire time.

At the mention of Sebastian's father, Jim has an overwhelming urge to turn back and look at his paramour, but he keeps his gaze trained on Nigel, even if the butler has chosen to ignore him in favor of riling up the Moran heir. Jim reaches back and takes hold of Sebastian's hand, tugging him past the butler and over into the kitchen to retrieve the cooler Aveline has filled with drinks and snacks. He pushes it into Sebastian's hands, because he's already got one bag and that's more than he usually cares to carry.

"Let's go. I don't fancy hiking in the dark."

\---

Sebastian adds nothing more, following after Jim obediently when he's tugged away and for a moment he considers that Jim is doing him a kindness and the other boy knows it. Whether it's true or not, Sebastian smiles to himself.

Jim had forethought but it's not surprising for someone so smart and Aveline has packed as requested- including a container of cut fruit from that morning. Sebastian adds it to his burdens and grins. "We should make good time."

And be setting camp before the sun starts to dip.

He leads the way back to the front of the house and trots down the stone steps, turning to the east side of the manor where a five car garage stretches out. Sitting in the sunlight of the afternoon are four vehicles, two polished to a shine and one wet where Henry, in trousers, button up and braces, is hosing it down.

"Henry, we've grown bored and seek the wood."

The hose stops it's spray before they ever get close enough to be splashed, giving them a good nod. "Very good, sir."

He dips inside of the garage and Sebastian leads them to the black Rolls-Royce already washed. Henry appears pulling on his coat, keys in hand, opening the trunk where Sebastian tosses in all but the rifle which he handles more delicately.

"And the pickup, sir?" Henry questions Sebastian, who glances at Jim as he opens the back door to let him in, answering a simple. "I'll call from the West mark."

\---

Jim turns his nose up at the realization that they are taking a car to the campsite instead of walking but he supposes it will make better time with less lugging of their supplies and more daylight for actual exploring. He chucks in the duffel after Sebastian's burden, then climbs into the backseat and barely gives Sebastian a chance to answer Henry before pale hands reach out and snatch the older boy's shirt and drag him inside.

"This is cheating, Moran. You'll have to find some other way to impress me with your strength now. If you can't be my beast of burden, what else can you do for me?"

He smirks and slides over into his seat, not bothering to buckle himself in because he's not going to die in a car crash. It's odd, he has no fraying edges to pick at, nor holes to bury his fingers in. The clothing is well cared for; not new, but certainly not in the state he finds most of his hand-me-downs in. And they smell like Sebastian. As does Jim, almost completely now, after using his soaps and shampoos and sleeping in his bed.

He tries to find some fault with this but he can't. Sebastian is his, yet he's slowly taking over Jim. Maybe it's what Jim has always needed.

\---

"I'm not walking for four hours just to get to the fun part." Sebastian chuckles a little. He sits back in the seat and folds his arms.

"You can call it spoiled if you like but it's a 20 minute drive down an empty road going 50. Then you figure another hour and a half through terrain, we'd get there in about six hours and that's a guess based on my own time. I don't take breaks. Another hour to set the kit and I'm hunting in the dark or we're eating whatever Aveline put in the box."

He shrugs his shoulder and looks at Jim, grinning. "You'll find other uses for me, but we can walk home if it suits you."

\---

Jim tilts his head and looks at Sebastian for a bit, then scoots over so he's sidled up against the blond's side, resting his head against the older boy's shoulder.

"It's an hour and a half ride by bus from central London to Eton college. I walked home in the dead of night... how long do you think that took?"

He closes his eyes and hums, reaching down to tap his fingers across Sebastian's leg, rubbing his fingers over the rough denims. "But you have a point, handsome. Might as well use what resources we have when they're available."

\---

It isn't guilt that sets on his face, more like a quiet admiration... or maybe appreciation. Jim did all that just to show up at Eton and give him a half tattered journal. He took the risk of getting caught on a private campus to see him, even cracked a window which would have added to the fines but neither of them ever said a word about that until now. That spider on the glass kept him company during Quiet Hour through the weeks now.

Secretly he likes the way Jim refers to him. "What is it they say? Work smart?"

Did that include abusing your affluent father's fortune? Sebastian tilts his head to look down at Jim leaning on him. He thinks about slipping the arm around those small shoulders but decides not to bother the Irish boy's resting place for the moment. Maybe he should feel guilty, for Jim going out of his way more than once. For long walks and following him around, Jim dragging him to the hospital and giving up all the things scattered on the pavement when Sebastian dragged him out of that alley...

For a moment, the gurgling bloody face of the boy with chipmunk cheeks flickers in his thoughts. Then he blinks it away and sends his gaze out the window, watching the stream of stone walls and gates and second stories buzz past beyond the tinted pane.


	13. It's Who You Are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You named it after me.
> 
> The story or Moriarty and Moran, from the very beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Updates now resuming every Saturday!**
> 
> Thanks go out to our lovely [Hippano](http://hippano.tumblr.com/) as always~! <3

Sebastian is warm as usual, and the gentle rocking of the luxury sedan lull Jim to sleep finally, after being up for what is verging on forty-eight hours now. He's dead to the world, and will be for the twenty to thirty minutes it takes to get to the woods. It's how Jim usually falls asleep, exhausting himself to the point his body just doesn't accept him being awake anymore and knocks him out. It's not the first time it's happened around Sebastian, but it's never happened around anyone else.

Jim will probably never sleep normally. The stress it tolls on his body is enormous. It will catch up with him eventually, along with his poor diet. But for now, he has Sebastian to keep watch.

\---

He still doesn't know, can't really, because Sebastian always falls asleep before Jim. He has taken notice to the fact the other boy is always awake first but runs on suspect that his hours are simply shorter- not nonexistent. He keeps still and wills the street to be quiet when he realizes Jim has dozed off, mostly oblivious the significance of it.

They arrive at the woods edge in due time. One of the smaller roads breaching the range which are more often used by authorities on search and the rowdy teenagers sneaking into the forest to be childish and free of city dwelling; usually the cause of such a search. The car has stopped and Sebastian gestures for Henry to open the trunk before he glances down at Jim still sleeping. He uses the back of his fingers to brush his arm lightly for the wake and its a shame.If he knew, he might have just let him sleep. "Jim."

\---

Jim snaps awake at the sound of his name and pulls away, sitting up straight and alert instantly. It’s the reaction of a soldier but in a boy, it's conditioned paranoia. He looks out the window and then back to Sebastian. He's never woken up to the older boy like this before; the only other time, Seb was still asleep.

He sighs and rubs a hand over his face, then crawls over Sebastian's lap and opens the door, pushing it aside. He pauses and tilts up to peck Sebastian on his cheek, then slides out of the car and heads to the boot to start pulling their supplies out.

\---

Sebastian huffs a little smile and once Jim is out, he follows suit, pulling his bag onto his shoulders, the lunch pack in hand and the rifle last to join his burden on shoulder. He gives Henry a parting word and begins stalking towards his usual route off the path, pausing only to make sure that Jim was right along his side.

\---

Jim carries his duffel on his back, keeping up with Sebastian as the old roads give way to woods, roots and beaten paths in the grass and dirt. Nature quickly looms up around them, and it's much better than the man made gardens and ponds. He moves up closer and curls his hand around the blond's forearm, above his plaster cast.

"There's really deer out here? It's almost Spring… there might be fawns and does as well. Are you only looking for bucks?"

\---

Sebastian trudges the woodlands in long strides and mindful stepping, his eyes scanning the ground ahead of him in a course he's mapped out well enough. The details of the scenery are ever changing with the seasons and new growth, especially with Spring flouncing about, but the markers are much the same and he remembers them with sharp eyes.

"Technically, hunting deer out here is illegal." Not that it particularly stopped his father or a handful of other privileged Englishman with enough money to pass over fines they were slapped with. His tone suggested as much.

"Morning is one of the best times to find them. Fawns make the doe easier targets but a buck is better game. Less impact for that." He glances at Jim who has taken up his arm. "Why? Are you concerned?" Hard to imagine.

\---

Jim gives an inelegant snort at the idea that he'd be concerned about anything, illegal or immoral. Jim is above all laws, whether they are made by men or hearts. He doesn't have to worry about where he steps, because he's sure of Sebastian's steps, trusting the gaze of those pale blue eyes that notice everything. He puts a lot of faith in the older boy and Jim's never been one for faith. Hope is not something he invests in, but Sebastian has said _'I'm yours_ ' And Jim's going to assume that means he'd like to keep Jim in good health.

"No. I just think it's a bit more impressive culling a buck than a mother with her infant."

\---

Sebastian flashes a light grin. "You'd be right. A doe spends more time paying attention to their fawn, they're divided by every noise- you or the fawn? A buck is on alert for his own hide."

Of course the older boy is mindful of Jim's movements and the path they are taking. Jim certainly is putting faith in him, for food and shelter and not getting them lost; among other things.

"A buck might be hard to find in the evening. How do you feel about rabbit?"

\---

Jim ignores the question and instead looks up at Sebastian and asks very softly, "Are you the buck, or the doe?"

He already knows the answer, it's obvious with Jim tagging along at his side which one Sebastian is. How vulnerable he's become with the Irish boy as a chink in his armor, a glaring weak spot.

\---

Sebastian glances down at him, watching for a moment with half amusement on his face. Returning his gaze to the path ahead of him, he shrugs a shoulder.

"Considering you are my priority, I'm a doe posing as a buck." He pauses words and something crosses his face. "But that implies I'm a prey animal... and we both know that isn't true."

For just a moment, he acknowledges the full force of what he did. Even if indirectly.

\---

Jim pauses a beat when Sebastian claims Jim is his priority. It's always much different to hear it spoken out loud. Jim wraps his hand around Sebastian's arm a bit tighter and uses it as leverage to hop over a felled log.

"No...you are not prey. You're a predator who stalks other predators. The most dangerous type."

\---

He steps over the log with little consideration and the smile on his face gets wider, a little more defined in it's near smirk of a status.

"Not the most dangerous." And something about his tone may suggest to whom he referred. Quietly, he enjoys the cling to his arm and the tighten of grip that comes with scaling the terrain together.

\---

Jim smiles and its the sun parting through London's thick clouds. No one should be so happy to be called dangerous, but Jim is. Sebastian understands him, as much as anyone can. That's what makes him so appealing.

"Ah, but I'm not a predator at all. I'm the vengeful god of the forest and I rule over all those dwelling within my kingdom."

He laughs airily and runs his fingers down over the pale plaster.

"A rabbit would be a worthy enough offering."

\---

Sebastian chuckles quietly. "Rabbit it is, until a buck is found."

Jim's laugh is Sebastian's pleasure, when it's high-pitched amidst amusement or frighteningly treacherous; even when it looms over him, there is something about it that skitters down his spine so delightfully. The blond steals another look at him, his little forest god smiling and he can't help feeling like the divine champion.

\---

The trek through the forest is pleasant and Jim doesn't mind the walk at all. Its much better with Sebastian at his side. Their world has swollen beyond the walls of a bedroom and now encompasses an entire forest.

"Can you even cook rabbit? Can you even _cook_?" He sounds skeptical because he is, a bit. Sebastian had no reason to ever learn, he's always had someone to do menial tasks like that for him.

\---

Sebastian laughs openly and it carries around them. He dips his head a little, nudging Jim lightly with his closest arm. "Oh, I thought I'd wing it."

And he laughs again, though he isn't at all surprised for a skeptic on the matter. It would seem that way, wouldn't it? Spoiled rich boy doesn't know how to cook or fend for himself. But women and cooks were not allowed on camping trips and hunting was one of the only distinct skills his father bothered to teach him because it was a family passion.

"The only things Augustus ever bothered to teach me himself was how to shoot a rifle, how to skin a kill and how to cook it on open fire. Sometimes, I think the only reason he wanted me on hunting trips was to do the prep work because I had smaller hands that didn't shake. He's not a very good shot for all the bullets he likes to put into things."

\---

Jim tilts with the small push; it's not quite enough to make him stumble but he teeters away from Sebastian and rocks back with a huff and a half hearted scowl.

"I'd rather not have to choke down something atrocious." He sticks out his tongue at Sebastian and runs on ahead, climbing over mossy rocks on the side of the trail.

"Is there a lake out here?" It's probably too cold to go swimming. But it would be thawed out by now.

And fish is a possibility if Sebastian ends up a horrible shot.

\---

He can't help smiling to himself because something about Jim out in the woods makes him seem more his age. As if there was ever a possibility for him to be carefree even for a short while. Sebastian doesn't hurry along, shifting the weight he has on his shoulders as he follows both Jim and the mental path he's laid out.

"We will be closer to a stream but if you follow it south, you'll find a lake."

\---

Jim is hopping over stones and grabbing low hanging branches and swinging over mud puddles. He _is_ carefree. The bustle of London is far away and though some part of him needs to be in that city center, the other half of him needs to leave it; needs the poison out of his skin and his lungs and his body. Jim hasn't been his age since he was six and forced to grow up all at once.

"Is the water safe?" Jim asks idly, pausing to stare up at a magpie that shrilly caws and clicks a warning down at him. The bird tilts it's head and Jim mirrors it. It hops to the side on it's branch, fluttering its wings and Jim follows suit, flicking fingers in a wiggle.

Finally, he turns back around to face Sebastian instead, hiking his bag up higher on his shoulders. "In case we need to refill our bottles."

\---

Now Sebastian has a bit of catch up to do and it takes him but a few quick strides and a pop over stones to do so. Usually, he's alone out here, at his own pace and challenge. With Jim hopping around, his heart does a little knock now and again, wondering if his shoes will not grip proper or the old flora will give away to his weight. But Jim is the god of this forest and no such thing can be allowed.

"The stream is safe, it doesn't run from London. I can't speak for the lake, though... Lakes attract people. Campsites line it. "

\---

Jim scrunches his nose at that and shakes his head. People don't interest him, not now. Sebastian isn't people though, he's Jim's, and that makes him acceptable. No lake for them, it'd be better to stay in the heart of the woods under the stars. People are toxic, like London is toxic. Both things warp Jim irreparably, but he can't leave, has no home to return to.

He turns around and walks backwards, staring at Sebastian's face and reading the twitches of his cheek or nervous darting of his eyes to know where he's stepping, and if he's gone too close to a felled branch or over sized rock.

"You'll have me all to yourself out here. You could murder me and no one would ever know where to look for me, or notice I was gone."

\---

Sebastian glances up from the track of terrain he follows beneath both their feet, landing observant blue on a face which looks so much younger when he isn't scowling.

"Awfully long setup." The corner of his mouth pulls up. "Especially since it was your idea to come out here. Should I be worried, Jim?"

\---

"You should always be worried, Sebastian."

The corners of his mouth flip up in a little smile and there's a mischievous gleam in his eyes. "You'll just have to keep your eyes on me all night."

He winks and then spins back around to walk normally before the blond has a heart attack.

\---

Jim says his name again and it makes him smile- the context of statement, wider. He speaks quiet and almost to himself; "That won't be a problem."

In a few quick steps, he catches up to Jim's side and reaches out his good hand to run a hand forward through Jim's black hair, tousling it a bit. "But you're wrong."

His fingers move away as his gaze follows their oncoming trail, eyeing for his landmarks. "I'd notice."

\---

Jim leans his head back a bit into Sebastian's hand, looking at the strong line of the blond's jaw. It's dangerous, telling Jim he's wrong. He's never wrong. But Sebastian's words just make him smile.

"Of course you'd notice. You're the murderer. You'd be the only one who knows where the body is."

\---

"I'd notice the world got a lot more stupid and a lot more dull. As if it needs any help."

And suddenly that hand returns high, this time to Jim's upper chest where the back of his fingers flatten to stop him just as Sebastian halts. There’s a break in the trees coming up, a small meadow with tall hardy grasses speckled with fresh blooms that survived the chill. Longways it goes on a bit but in width, it interrupts the trees barely 50 yards before the forest continues on. It came up faster than he'd been expecting and maybe that had something to do with having company, but Sebastian's eyes are trained on scanning the grassy stretch until he tilts his head a little.

It's still early, not quite late in the afternoon but sure enough there's at least one with its ears peaking up above the grass.

\---

Jim's about to retort to that, but the hand pressed to his chest silences him before he gets out the first syllable. He follows Sebastian's gaze and sees the perked ears, then silently moves and takes the lunch pail and camping bag carefully off of Sebastian's back, keeping quiet.

He glances at the plaster wrapped around the blond's hand, and realizes shooting might not even be possible with the state of his wrist. He lifts the rifle off Sebastian's shoulder and hands it to him, then lays a hand down against the older boy's back, fingers tapping almost unnoticeably against Sebastian's spine.

\---

He shrugs his shoulders as the bag is taken from him, movement calm and slow in the exchange of the rifle Jim has freed. The younger boy may not be a natural woodsman but he's damn clever in all his tact. Nothing sudden, not even Sebastian's breath picks up for the adrenaline which trickles in. He has to account for that hand and he knows it, unable to turn a wrist or grip well enough even at awkward angle to really steady the shot. He confirms this to himself when he tries to get a second hand grip on the barrel to no real success.

For a moment he takes his eyes off the rabbit to glance around their immediate vicinity and then slowly, in small steps one foot directly in front of the other, edges up towards a tree immediately nearby. Lifting the rifle and his bum hand, he rests the plaster against the bark and creates a kind of shelf to steady the barrel on; just an adapted tactic of long range shots.

Butting the rifle into his shoulder, he tilts his blond head and peers through the scope, lining up the shot in no hurry. It's been a while and this isn't the gun he used as a boy but he breathes slowly and relies on an instinct he doesn't know the source of.

Inhale. He holds his breath in the pause, finger curling and the shot fires off. It's loud, ringing through the trees, startling birds above their heads. The rabbit collapses instantly, back legs spasming in the twist of its body. Sebastian exhales and there's a satisfying feeling in his fingertips as he moves it away from the trigger and slowly lifts his head.

\---

Jim is silent and still as he watches Sebastian, who drops into the poise of a hunter flawlessly. Jim isn't watching the rabbit, he's watching Sebastian. The clever way he uses the tree to his advantage, the intense concentration on his face as he takes aim. Utterly engrossed in his shot, when he pulls the trigger, Jim doesn't even have to see to know he's made it, flawlessly.

The rabbit is ignored as Jim moves forwards and closes in on the older boy, grabbing hold of his face and pulling him in for a kiss. He's never felt so full of life, watching Sebastian take another. He pushes that into the kiss, into Sebastian, as the rifle smokes between them.

\---

He hasn't much time to draw his arms down or lower the rifle when Jim is already there beside him. His face is taken out of it's keen gaze and directed to the other boys face and suddenly he's being vehemently kissed. It's certainly a more pleasant reward than a slap on the back or a critique on how it could have been a better shot. Actually, neither of them even know how good the shot was yet because now there's Jim and just Jim. And the mild ringing in his ears, maybe.

Sebastian puts his shoulder into the tree for balance as his casted arm slides down and the rifle stays between him and Jim. It is certainly a satisfying feeling that wells inside of him now, from fingertips to thrumming heart.

\---

It's not a quick, gentle kiss, it's passionate and deep quickly, that nimble tongue prying open Sebastian's mouth and slipping inside. Sebastian's hands are occupied, but that's fine because he's holding a rifle and somehow that fits.

Jim doesn't break away until he's breathless, cheeks flushed and eyes wild, he pants and runs his hands down Sebastian's cheeks, then he's running off, through the meadow to retrieve the rabbit.

\---

Seb is left standing there in something of a daze as Jim darts off after the kill, trailing his gaze on the other boy in a helpless need for air. After a moment he seems to shake it off, wagging blond as he pushes off the tree and he can't help the stupid grin that peels those muscles back and displays too many teeth. Being around Jim is utterly thrilling, unpredictable and he thinks that has more to do with his heart racing than the shot.

With a grip on the rifle, he scoops up the bags on one crook of his arm and takes off after Jim. He'd pegged the rabbit square in the head but it wasn't a perfect shot between ear and eye, not being able to account for a rifle he's unfamiliar with. Still a clean kill. He'll need to pull the game bag and it will need to be gutted before they move on, but it's a satisfying first shot with something new adding to the afterglow in his veins.

\----

Jim kneels in the grass beside the rabbit, who'd been nibbling at clovers, so at least it was probably munching happily when death found it with a swift bullet. It is a clean shot, so it didn't suffer, and Jim can't help but reach out and run his fingers over its smooth pelt in awe.

Seb sidles up beside him and he turns to look up at the blond. He's in awe of the blond too, who made a shot this good with only one good hand. Not perfect, but with both hands, he could easily have shot right through the center of the rabbit's skull. Jim squirms and set his hands on his knees, a frisson of arousal running up his spine that by all means shouldn't be there.

\---

Setting the bags down again, he shifts the rifle in arm and lays it gently in the grass as he kneels beside Jim. A good hand picks the rabbit up by its ears, checking it over for signs of sickness; front and back. Blood seeps from mouth, eyes, nose and wound, coloring the patch of grass and tufts of fur a sickly bright red.

The older boy makes a noise of satisfaction and takes the time to open one of the pouches on the front of his bag, pulling out a hunting knife which is old but well taken care of. This will take a little more tact with only half a hand at his disposal, but he's done it enough not to blunder with accommodations for a poor second grip. Rabbits are weak little things and it doesn't take much at all- in a matter of moments, he's snapped the feet and slit the flesh, getting his fingers in to peel the fur off right to the head where he makes a clean cut to remove it, utilizing the grassy earth as leverage for his good hand doing pulling and breaking.

Last he slices the belly to gut it, removing the unnecessary organs but leaving the better of them; heart and liver. He's quiet up until he's done, when he bothers to explain. "You want to gut them early so the meat isn't tainted by the organs fermenting."

There's a smaller game bag folded up in his pack somewhere that he needs to dig out, but he pauses to look at Jim.

\---

Jim watches the whole thing, from start to finish, as Sebastian's hands carefully handle the knife and the rabbit, manipulating the small body and the slide of the blade. It's an art to Jim, it's beautiful and gorgeous how the polished steel separates skin from flesh that was alive only moments ago.

Sebastian killed the creature for Jim, and there's a power there that titillates the smaller boy. He chews at his bottom lip and nods; Sebastian is a plethora of knowledge that Jim doesn't know yet and that is even more impressive. Jim never went hunting with his father.

He licks his lips and rubs his hands on his denims again, looking around at the open clearing. "Is this the campsite, then? We'll have to bury the blood and entrails...or it'll attract other creatures? Right?"

\---

Sebastian nods in confirmation. "Right. We bury what's left to avoid predators poaching too close by."

Blond inclines towards the other side of the clearing. "I usually stop a bit further on- fifty yards so so. If we break in the center of the meadow, they'll steer clear of it and we won't get another. You stop too close to the creek and the deer will wander further off to avoid you. So we camp along the breakline. The trees aren't as dense so you've got line of sight and they make decent cover for rain."

Because this is still England and rain a given.

He's set down the knife now and unzips one of the larger pouches on his travel bag, pulling out an old game sack which has been folded two ways. It's not a big one, but plenty of space for rabbit and for the moment, he only lays the kill on top of it, picking it up by what's left of its back legs. He looks to Jim again.

"Don't suppose you'd see to burying it? Dirt is not terribly good for the cast."

\---

Jim looks up at Sebastian for a long moment. It's not an order though, Sebastian's just asked something of him, and it's plausible, makes sense. He nods and wanders off to find a flat rock, then returns to the site to churn up the dirt and pack the blood and entrails underneath. The action calms him down a bit and he's no longer riled up and tensed.

When he's finished, he wipes his hands off on his denims and returns to Sebastian's side to help him set up the tent.

\---

Sebastian doesn't bother going all the way inward to his usual site, there is no real need with buck being their true goal. In two trips, he parks them at the edge of the meadow where the trees have kept the grass from being dense, so it will be less work to keep a fire from moisture. The creek is near enough for back and forth without much trouble but not close enough to hear the water trickling. While Jim is burying the entrails, he's gotten the bags in one spot, the rabbit too, and marked the fire site with a shuffle of his boot in the dirt.

The tent is freed from the straps keeping it secured to his bag and this part takes a bit more help from Jim, getting it out of the sheath and setting the damn thing up, which takes about ten minutes of hassle but they aren't incompetent. It's not a big one, obviously meant for single use with a little wiggle room. The bedroll takes up a good bit of space in his bag and once it's taken out, the thing practically deflates. Sebastian has to half wonder how he'll managed to get all of this put back together neatly with one good hand but he doesn't suspect Jim is so unreasonable he won't help with that too.

\---

Jim helps unfurl the tent and get the spikes into the ground and the wires connected and then crawls into the domed living space to inspect it. It's cozy and will force them together, but that's not much of a problem obviously. He drags his bag inside and tucks it into the corner, then climbs back out of the tent with a smile. They've made a little house that's all their own and it makes him far happier than it should.

He collects stones and branches and moss to use as tinder, bringing it back to their campsite. He's more actively helping than usual because Sebastian's down a hand and already is taking care of the rabbit. He stomps the dirt down flat and makes a circle with the the stones and pile the branches in the center. He raids the bags and finds the flint and matches, and gets a fire smoking away that has soon spreads into a blaze. Jim stands back and puts his hands on his hips, looking triumphant over the fire he's created. It's his first time and he's just gone by what he's learned from books, but it seems to be successful.

\---

It's quiet as they work, both tending different tasks and it's so much more efficient with two people who aren't stupid. While Jim gathered tinder, Sebastian gathered thin branches for a spit roast, retrieving cord from a pocket in the pack to help tie up the bundle. Everything is a bit more challenging with half use of a hand but he manages well enough. While carving off the bark of the spit which will spear the rabbit, Jim has set a fire all his own and the blond glances up to flash a toothy smile of praise.

"Brilliant."

They've still got daylight, which was fair news when they had a good wait for the rabbit to cook. He rummages through the box lunch Aveline has packed and steals the onions off a sandwich she's made, sewing them up crudely into the emptied belly of the rabbit before it's speared through. Over the top of Jim's successful fire, he sets up the rabbit to roast, leaving only liver and heart to pierce with smaller tips and cook separately.

Sitting back as that's done, he fetches a bottle of water and takes a long sip, giving their little camp a satisfied glance over.

\---

Sebastian praises him, and it brings a victorious smile to his face. Jim isn't often praised and he loves it, especially coming from the older boy, whose opinion actually matters. Once they've both finished, he moves over and tugs Sebastian down to sit on the grass, then sits himself between the blond's legs.

He snuggles back and rests against Sebastian's chest, watching the fire leap up to lick at the meat of the rabbit and set off an acrid smell of burning flesh that soon becomes the succulent aroma of roasting meat. The flames crackle when grease hits them, but it's not often because rabbit is so lean.

Jim leans up and kisses the underside of Sebastian's chin. "I've never had rabbit before. What does it taste like?"

\---

Sebastian has lightly cleaned his hands off and rubbed them dry on denims before Jim tugs him down to sit. It's nice to rest with accomplishments made, curling his left around around the smaller waist which leans in close to him. He smiles for the kiss and slides tongue across his lips where he grazes the scar.

"It's considered white meat. Most compare it to duck." He pauses for a moment, considering that Jim may have never had that either. "Or chicken. Light. If I'd thought of it, I could have brought something to season."

He glances away from the fire to look at Jim tucked against him.

\---

Jim's still staring up at Sebastian, head tilted back, so their eyes meet when the blond glances down. Jim holds those blue eyes with brown, his hand dropping down to curl over the plaster cast and the fingers peering out from the white confines. If Jim has one regret, it may be this. Jim has yet to have both of Sebastian's hands wrapped properly around him.

He nods and finally drops his gaze back to the fire. "The smoke will add plenty of flavor."

\---

Sebastian nods and lingers watching the other for a little while longer before tracing his gaze back to the fire. For all the difficulty his wrist caused him, he couldn't find it in him to be angry about it, but he likely shared that same unspoken regret.

"It'll be a bit." He bothers to mention, but he doesn't mind and gets a silly idea in his head that maybe Jim won't either.

\---

Jim hums in acknowledgment, but he's not concerned over the time it'll take to cook. That's more time he has to sit with Sebastian and bask in the glow of his attention. He slides his fingers over Sebastian's, pale and smooth meeting tanned and calloused. Somehow what little sun London offers has found its way into the older boy's skin, making him eternally warm.

"You said you'd notice...what else have you noticed?"

\---

His fingers twitch and flex gently as if they're trying to respond to Jim's, to grip his hand and squeeze the deft digits, but he has only the limited set, while the other hand palms the grassy earth to keep them upright. Brows raise and he gives Jim a curious look.

"About what? You?"

\---

"Yes."

It’s simple and soft. Sebastian has placed Jim up on such a high pedestal, he wonders what the older boy sees when he looks at him. Most people look right through, or despise him and try to break that which they don't understand. But not Sebastian. He sees something different and Jim is finally curious enough to ask what it is.

\---

"You want me to put it into words?"

Sebastian huffs a soft laugh, tilting his head back a little and glancing up along the trees which lined the edge of the meadow. Words should have been easy, he writes so many... But being asked to define the things he senses about Jim is, at very first, difficult. There's a pond full of thoughts and he has to sift through them so they might be defined. Sebastian begins, quiet and a little delayed as his thoughts gather together piece by piece.

"You're smarter than you let on. I've seen it in the way you look at people- you looked at me that way. They see through it because they think you're dense, that you're too stupid to run or fight back, but you don't make the same face people do when they're scared. You watch them like everything they do and say is giving something away. You're not afraid. They only figure that out when you let them. I saw it in their faces when they tried not to tell me who it was- real fear. Whatever you did was more than striking back, they were terrified. No one ordinary could make four blokes cower at half their size." He laughed a little, smiling. As if he were proud.

"And then they get this impression that it's all you are; There's nothing else underneath. You go from being dense to mad. I think you like it that way. I think you also hate it because you're surrounded by dullards. It throws you off when someone sees past it. You hate that too." He smiles to himself and bites his lip for a moment.

"Under all that is the obvious- you love the stars. And playing the piano. I think it's been a long time and you hate that as well. You hate feeling small and you hate people who think they are big. You don't tolerate being trapped, you do things only at your decision but you hate being predictable. You hate a lot of things, actually. Most things." Another small, airy laugh. His arm tightens a little around Jim's waist. He speaks a bit quicker now, voice slipping into a tone that navigates his impassioned thoughts.

"But there's something in your hands and in your eyes that says you're biding time. Putting together pieces, even the ones you don't expect. Just quietly... burning. You've already grown up in your head and now you're waiting for the rest of the world to catch up- you're right there in the middle of everyone but they're so _blind_. I can scarcely understand how no one else can see it, but I don't want them to." Sebastian pauses as if he realizes his feelings have slipped in, that his words have taken that writer's tone. His eyes watch fire flicker and dance and he takes a breath to finish his thoughts.

"Someday, you'll be bigger than just a man. You can't keep stars out of the sky. One day they will look at you in awe... And you won't turn your back to them because it is so much more satisfying to see their shame."

\---

Jim listens to Sebastian talk. Listens and listens. The boy talks a lot, more than he ever has in all the time Jim has known him. The story doesn't count, because it was a story, and while it was also about Jim, this is far more personal. This is describing Jim, not just idle things he may have noticed. Sebastian is pouring his heart out.

Jim may come from nothing, but he is vain and proud. He should like it, love the praise and the pleasant words spoken of him. But its a bit overwhelming. Sebastian is obsessed. He's been obsessed since the beginning, stalking after Jim. He can't really remember when the scales tipped and Jim became tolerant of his presence, of his obsession.

It's crushing him.

Sebastian's arm is tight and strong around his waist and it's keeping him from bolting, but he wants to. He wants to run out of the dense woods that surround them and put as much distance as possible between them.

But he also never wants to leave this strong grip, wants to stay in these arms forever and let the world rot around him. Eventually the arms around him will rot too, because everything does when it comes in contact with Jim. Sebastian thinks he's the stars, and that's beautiful, it really is, but it's not true. Jim is poison. Toxic. Sebastian will suffer the same as everyone else.

"Sebastian..." He murmurs, and for the first time he's unsure of what to say in the wake of all that. He turns around in Sebastian's grip, facing the older boy. Both hands slip up to his face, holding it in tiny hands. Dark eyes peer up at blue and they see everything and understand nothing at all.

"You'll stay with me...forever?"

\---

It is obsession. Of a dangerous and consuming kind which has taken over parts of Sebastian that were there long before it. His social nature, his unspoken intensity for study, six languages of which three are fluent and now they speak of but one. It has overwritten his survival instinct, not only for the star which threatens to burn him but the danger which has been there all his life. It is an obsession of which neither of them knows the consequence.

Maybe there's some small part in him that knows it but he can't seem to break away. Jim holds him like a force much stronger than a magnet- it's gravity. The perfect coming together of two entities of which one circles. And that is forever.

Sebastian is- he can be a romantic at heart but he will never say so. It lingers in him from a time past, left there by the influence of something long gone. He smiles, affectionate and unrestrained because he still likes the sound of his name in Irish tint. He doesn't restrict Jim turning, small hands framing his face as if he needed them at all to hold his gaze on deep brown which stands out natural with that tone of blue jumper. His face looks young again.

For a moment there is only the quiet crackle of fire in a still forest. "I told you... I am yours."

\---

Sebastian is Jim's. And that means he'll be here till Jim sends him away. And even then a beckon from Jim would bring him back. In theory. In reality, Sebastian is only human. He knows better than to make promises he one day won't keep. The way he answers Jim is indicative of that. But Jim just nods and settles down to lay against Sebastian's stomach and chest. For now, he's content to wait, for the first time in his life he has company.

\---

He watches Jim settle against him, arm accommodating, keeping a curl around him. He wants to put his fingers through Jim's hair but he's short a hand to do so and contents himself just watching for a while before he returns gaze to check on the rabbit.

They both know the world as cruel, in different threads which seem to pull the same direction, running parallel. He can only make promises of mind, not body. But it is a mind sharp with clever stubbornness and a body of resilience and he will find a way to make them work together. He wants nothing more than to give Jim the whole sky even though he himself is but a man underneath it.

It's late afternoon, nearly evening. There's a time or two he must lean forward to turn the rabbit over the fire but he's content to keep Jim close as long as Jim allows him to.

\---

Jim doesn't drift off this time, but he's close, lulled to comfort in the older boy's embrace. Jim's getting used to him being there, to the point when he leaves it like pulling off a piece of skin. And maybe he's obsessed too.

As Sebastian shifts him to turn the spit, Jim makes no effort to move, just laying there in a silent slouch. He's not going to move, there's no reason to. He's comfortable, and Sebastian is tolerable, so Jim will take advantage of it.

\---

Eventually, in the wake of quiet and darkening sky, the rabbit is done and Sebastian lightly nudges Jim to sit up so that he can pull it from over the fire to check on it. After letting the flame lick the blade of his knife sterile, he slits a bit of the roasted flesh to check the meat, satisfied with it. After cutting off a piece for taste and humming softly at the result, he offers a bit to Jim with a curious expression waiting in his reaction.

\---

Jim whines a complaint, but pushes up and slides around so he's sitting up in the circle of Sebastian's arms and legs again. When offered the bit of rabbit, he hesitates for a moment, then leans in and takes a bite. He chews and looks contemplative. It's a bit gamey, but its wild, that's to be expected. The onions add a nice aroma to the meat. The fact Sebastian killed, cleaned and cooked it, adds something more.

"It’s good." He murmurs, looking up expectantly and waiting for the next bite. He won't eat much, but he'll eat, and maybe polish off a bit of fruit.

\---

Sebastian chuckles softly at Jim's hands-off manner about it, nodding with the success of acceptance for the taste. Good. Because more and more he has noticed the long periods without food and how he picks through what he does decide to eat, so any time the other boy accepts is a gain in his mind.

Sebastian props the spit in the ground, positioning the rabbit what would be upright if the bugger still had a head- but alas poor sod, he doesn't. He continues to cut off pieces, working around small bones, to find the best parts, which he offers Jim quietly. Maybe one day he'd prepare it full proper, removing bones and seasoning the taste. Stuffing it with vegetables. That's about the extent of his actual cooking knowledge and its strange to remember that he learned it from his father, not Aveline.

It's been a success regardless and he's pleased with himself; it probably shows. It's spring, so the sun stays up above their heads a while longer and they've been lucky to find a rabbit early, so there's no long hunt in the remainder of daylight. It doesn't matter because as far as Sebastian is concerned, this world is theirs, even without the walls.

\---

Jim watches him carve, and once again is impressed by the skill and knife work. After a few more bites, he leans forwards to collect a bottle of water and the container of fruit, sharing both with Sebastian and feeding him from fingertips since his own are greasy from roasted meat and holding onto the knife.

He lets his fingers linger against Sebastian's lips, tracing juice from the bottom one, and occasionally the urge is too much and he leans up and kisses Sebastian's mouth instead, licking away the juice and grease that shines there.

\---

After the first unexpected kiss, Sebastian bites his lip to try and contain his grin. He keeps his hands off of Jim for the time being, not wanting to grease up skin or jumper or even denim which has already been lightly abused by wiping hands and forest brush. He's so very indulgent in moments like this and it's a dangerous thing to be, he knows it, but Jim feeds him crumbs of affection like a pigeon in the park and he'll take every bit of it because he's starving.

He spears the little rabbit's heart and liver on a thinner stick and sets it upright in the ground near the fire to roast as they finish up rabbit and pieces of fruit, which make for an interesting but not unpleasant combination, cherried on top by kisses; one of which Sebastian steals away himself after Jim has eaten a piece of fruit and looked impossibly adorable while doing so.

It's all very normal and almost sickeningly sweet and he doesn't care because no one is around to share in it, nor would he allow them to. When the heart has cooked through, it's all but a tiny thing and he slices it in half between his fingers, giving Jim a questioning raise of eyebrows when he offers.

\---

With a raise of his eyebrow, Jim studies the severed organ resting in Sebastian's palm, then takes a half and looks right at the older boy as he pops it into his mouth and chews, swallowing it down a moment later. There is something satisfying about eating the heart; it doesn't taste like much and its a bit chewy, but it's more the act than anything else.

He's still watching Sebastian as he licks his fingers clean.

"I'm not eating that liver and if you are, I won't be kissing you any more tonight."

\---

Sebastian chuckles and pops the other half of the heart into his mouth and there's something satisfying about the triumph over the rabbit's very existence. They have conquered it together and all is right. He plucks up the branch jammed through the liver and tosses it into the fire with a cock of his head.

"Oh good, because I've decided I hate liver."

Because kissing Jim is far more important than things that are supposed to be good for you: as shown by the way he leans in to kiss Jim's temple and cheek and jaw.

\---

Jim grins and giggles as Sebastian leans in and covers his face in kisses, but soon he's pushing him away so he can climb up onto his feet. It's not dark quite yet, he can still look across the clearing and see the creek in the distance.

"Come on. Let's go clean up in the river before you get handsy."

\---

"The sooner I can."

Sebastian chuckles again and let's Jim get up without getting in the way. He follows in standing, gathering up the knife to wash down as well. They'll have to do something with what remains of the rabbit but he'll get to it. For now, the blond touches nothing else until the rabbit grease is gone from his fingers, following after Jim to the little brook which runs southward. It isn't very deep at all, but it's clear and flows fresh over the rocks, housing small fish that swim along through towards the lake.

\---

When he reaches the brook, Jim kneels down and wets his hands, then rubs them together under the flow, washing away sticky fruit juice and smoky grease from the rabbit meat. When he stills, the fish swim up to nibble at his fingertips, much like the ones in Sebastian's pond did. They scatter when Sebastian dips his hands in and Jim laughs at the scurry of flashing fins.

Once his hands are clean, he flicks his wet fingers up at Sebastian, scattering cool droplets over his skin, then dries them on unsoiled spots on his denims, rubbing damp digits over rough fabric.

\---

Sebastian dips his head after water is flung his way, laughing lightly as he shoots Jim a sly glance. If he isn't careful, Sebastian will retaliate and getting Jim wet sounds either dangerous or wholly beneficial because he'll have no choice but to get warm again.

It goes to show, Jim is gentle in the stream and Sebastian is not, giving a rub down of cool water over warm skin all the way up to his elbow, best he can with just the fingers of his left, washing off the knife as well. The gauze tufts sticking form the edge of the cast soak up a bit of water but it's not the first time and he ignores it. Blond has gone aloft on his forehead and he reaches up his run his hand through his hair and push it back, resting elbows on his knees to look up and down the creek for a moment. It's quiet and there's not much sign of life, but the sound of water flow is rather calming and Sebastian has the urge to write about the carefree god of the forest.

\---

Jim doesn't give Sebastian much of a chance to relax by the stream before he's assaulting him, climbing onto his back and stuffing cold, wet hands down the front of Sebastian's shirt. He's half slung over the blond's shoulder, feet kicking wildly in the air behind them as he precariously balances on the broad shoulder. Damp fingers slide over firm muscles, seeking out that constant heat, and maybe just making sure that he's the first to get handsy.

\---

Sebastian breaks out in laughter when weight suddenly presses on him, catching his balance as Jim sprawls against his shoulders precariously. He doesn't stand, because it might be too much like carrying the other boy, but he reaches up with his good hand and finds Jim's head to ruffle his hair lightly as if that would at all deter him. Those hands are chilled, natural cold and slightly damp diving under his shirt and finding his warmth of which he already has a claim on.

Moments like this are the shame of one handedness but he still manages to bring his good one back down to overlap one of Jim's smaller beneath the fabric of his shirt. He tilts his head into one of the thin arms reaching over his shoulder and gives it a little nip through the fabric.

\---

Jim butts his head against Sebastian's hand when it slides through his hair, the dark halo of fluff is always a mess and the older boy seems to like making it even more so. It then rests over Jim's own hand, keeping him close and steady, even as he nibbles at the side of his arm through the jumper.

Jim wriggles and kicks his feet around, until he slides off Sebastian's shoulder and plops face first into his lap. He writhes around, kicking upwards with his trainers and probably catching a cheek or chin in the process. He ends up laid out across Sebastian's lap, jumper a wrinkled mess and half hanging down a shoulder to expose the necklace of bruises that are now blooming deep purple petals amongst the scarlet.

\---

The blond scrambles a bit to make sure Jim doesn't go falling into the creekbed, even when his chin gets knocked by a trainer, one eye closes and he tilts his head away but his arms try to keep the other boy secure where he lands in his lap. He leans back a little to look down at Jim and just laughs again, a free sound that floats off into the forest they call theirs because he's lovely and adorable and Sebastian can't help but be endeared by it.

"Are you comfortable?" He questions Jim as eyes return downward, tracing the exposed shoulder and the marks of claim which decorate neck and collarbone; little flowers he's made on a pale canvas, just like the ones left behind on tan.

\---

Jim's eyes are bright in the lingering sun that blazes overhead, slowly sinking down to deliver them into a dusk before proper twilight falls. He gives a soft sigh and closes his eyes, face turning towards Sebastian's stomach to nuzzle against it. "S'alright." He slurs against the fabric, the broad thighs and lap a decent enough perch for his small body.

"We should go back before it gets too dark to find our way...I want to start my star chart." He's turned his head so the words aren't as muffled and he peers back up at Sebastian, hands moving to curl up under the hem of his shirt now, skimming over his stomach in a lazy trail.

"Unless...you have other plans?"

\---

Smile abound, they can't be helped. He shakes his head and lifts a hand to smooth back the other boy's hair; a pointless endeavor because it remains stubbornly fluffy as ever. Sebastian vaguely wonders what he'd look like with product to tame it, but it's hard to imagine Jim as anything tame, from head to toe.

"Never get in the way of a star and his sky."

He leans over the other boy to kiss his forehead. "Anything I have in mind can wait until later."

He should, after all, take care of the rabbit and tidy the camp before the sun has left them entirely.

\---

It brings a quirk of a smile to the corner of his mouth, the soft touches and softer kisses. It's nothing that excites Jim, but they are sweet and comforts him, and that's good too. Jim has gone a long time without comfort.

He lays there a few more moments with the hand in his hair, and his own sliding down to rest on the older boy's hips. Finally, he must stand up and he climbs to his feet and holds his hands out the older boy, as if he could in any way lever him up.

They walk back to camp, hand in hand, and he leaves Sebastian to take care of the remains of the rabbit while he ducks into the tent to retrieve the supplies he needs for his star chart.

\---

Sebastian accepts the hand though he pulls no weight with it as he stands, content to be lead because it keeps Jim's fingers tangled with his. When they arrive back at camp, he fishes out a small flashlight and passes it over to the other boy so that he might illuminate his star chart after the sun has fallen away entirely. Meanwhile, he collects the speared rabbit which has been picked well of its meat and carries it off to be buried, taking a number from Jim with the rock for turning the earth up. He snaps off the ends of the spit and puts it into the ground where it will properly rot with nature beneath the soil.

With the sun disappearing, the temperature took a dive into its lows, leaving a chill even on his skin. He'd have to fish out the jacket to stay warm or he'd hate to imagine Jim's protest to his cold hands. Seb stops by the creek another time to wash the dirt from his fingers before returning to Jim and his star chart.

\---

Jim's been waiting, with the thick jacket and a handful of markers. He hands the jacket up to Sebastian and waits for him to put it on. Jim will stay warm in Sebastian's lap, with strong arms around him. They sit by the fire and Jim's only got the markers, and it becomes obvious why when he pulls that plastered cast into his lap and begins drawing on the blank white surface, filling it with tiny stars that connect to make the constellations that shine over their heads.

\---

He slips on the jacket with ease and takes his seat by the fire, only to be surprised by Jim's choice of canvas for his star chart. His brows raise and he laughs lightly, but he holds perfectly still for the other boy to fill the blank white of his cast with the collage of stars he loved so much. It's another mark of Jim on his body, even though it was to be inevitably temporary. The cast would be there another two, three weeks and in that time, Jim would linger on his person in physical form for anyone to see, just like the scar which smiled back at others.

His good hand circles Jim, trying not to disturb him as he peers over the other's slender shoulder to watch his markings on the hard grain. He’s glad that he hadn't allowed anyone to mark the plaster, which was a peculiar habit of people to do. Signing their names like it was some sort of achievement... and yet Jim drawing constellations on his arm seems perfectly reasonable and that might have something to do with the fact he’s enamored with the young Irishman. But his broken wrist is Jim's just as much as his good one and now, it would be decorated as such until it was healed, when it would at last partake in a pastime already favored by it's dominant twin.

As Jim doodles away on his chosen canvas, Sebastian makes guesses to which constellation he charts, half a ploy of getting Jim to talk about the stars again.

\---

Jim is drawing a very detailed chart of Orion, and says so, using different colours for each class of star and naming them below in tight, spidery script. "The Hunter. He has two stories, and no one could ever agree with which one is correct. In one myth, he was a great Hunter, born of Neptune and the Queen of the Amazons. He was strong and proud, and boasted that he could best any animal on earth. And then one day a tiny scorpion stung him in the ankle and he died swiftly and painfully."

Jim hums and continues to draw, his attention focused on the plaster canvas settled in his lap. He tilts his head a bit to make room for Sebastian to peer and watch.

"The other story is that he could walk on water and fell in love with a princess and performed many feats to try and woo her hand. He even slayed all the wild beasts on the island her father ruled over. But the King would not allow the marriage. So Orion tried to take her by violence. Her father got him drunk and blinded him as punishment. Orion wandered the shores, following the sound of the cyclops’ hammer. The Titan took pity on him, for Orion had been a great blacksmith himself, and gave him a guide to take him to the temple of the sun. Apollo restored his sight, and there, he met the god's sister, Diana. Both being hunters, they trekked together and fell in love, and Diana was set to marry him. Apollo hated the idea, Diana was supposed to be a virgin huntress after all. One day, when Orion was out far in the sea, Apollo dared her to hit the 'black thing in the sea,' pointing to the distance figure of Orion. She cocked her bow and shot him straight through the head. When she discovered it was her lover, she mourned his death and put him in the sky above."

Jim finishes and caps his marker, leaning back and staring up at the sky.

"You are my hunter. And one day I will sting you, with poison or an arrow."

\---

It’s Jim's turn to tell a story and Sebastian listens intently, eyes on the motion of hand and flickering to the movement of lips. When the other boy leans back, Sebastian keeps his eyes on his face and the gaze he gifts the sky above.

They older boy ponders; better than dying in incident. Dying by foolishness of foot or by carelessness of hand. He can accept fate so long as fate was Jim, even with the inevitability of his future: can a hunter survive on will alone?

"Will you set me in the sky when I am gone?"

\---

Jim's gaze leaves the sky, and focuses instead on the boy he reclines back against. Sebastian is so casually accepting of his fate. He knows the risk and danger of being with Jim, but none of it matters to him. It’s Jim himself who matters, and no matter how short their time is together, it’s what Sebastian has chosen, what he wants. Maybe the only thing he has truly chosen in his life.

Of all the people in the world he could have chosen, he picked an unstable star that will one day will burst into a supernova and burn all those around it.

"We'll go into the sky together."

\---

"You shall burn the brightest."

With a bit further incline of chin, his star charted arm lifts to touch fingers under Jim's jaw and draws him in for a kiss neither rough nor soft, nor meant to be prolonged.

\---

Jim tilts to accommodate the kiss, because it's not often Sebastian is the one who initiates this sort of thing, unless Jim has provoked him to violence. Maybe that's due to the first kiss earning him a scar, so now he's learned to be cautious. Jim is unpredictable of his acceptance of affection, even though he craves it, deep inside.

When it ends, he leans away and drags his fingers up over the cast covered hand, drawing it over his stomach to hold him as his gaze moves over the flickering flames that leap and crackle in front of them.

"I'll burn everything."

\---

Sebastian slides that arm around Jim, useless as the grip is, pressing him back a bit tighter to his chest and following the other's dark gaze to the fire which dances in the reflection of their eyes. He believes that truth, that more than just London would burn under his discretion, in whatever way Jim so chooses. It’s perhaps a strange feeling to understand Jim's intentions as being destructive, not simply in metaphor. He has experienced the swift, cold violence of the boy's nature more than once... And yet Sebastian cannot rile concern for future victims. It should be a clear sign that he himself is not the well adjusted young man thought of him. But he can neither find his concern for that because there was one in all the millions that understood his heart and how it was twisted just so.

Sebastian rests his chin lightly on Jim's shoulder, putting aside future for present.

\---

Jim would burn the world and Sebastian isn’t afraid of it. That alone is a reason for keeping him, for knowing him. There is someone in this world as maladjusted as he. Aries and Gemini aren’t close enough. That damned bull stands between them.

Jim settles back against Sebastian, eyes growing half lidded as he watches the fire crackle. The blond is spoiling him, without ever spending a penny. Had he been offering things of great monetary value, Jim would have never been as interested. But he offers himself, his company. It’s far worthier a sacrifice.

Jim is constant kinetic energy, but somehow Sebastian always manages to slow him down. He feels himself grow drowsy, leaning back on Sebastian more heavily. Finally, with a soft sigh, he droops completely, the hours catching up with him despite the fact it’s still fairly early in the evening.

\---

That Jim seems to go loose in his arms doesn’t surprise him. He cradles his weight well against his larger frame and bids his body to stay still that he doesn't jostle the smaller one in his charge. Wherever it is that Jim decides to lay, curl or drape himself is acceptable and if he could, Sebastian would find a way to make the world shut off and allow him to rest. There are a lot of things the blond wishes to do; re-writing the face of someone who thought themselves better than Jim is just one amongst them.

Blue reflects the flicker of flame in a long stare and it remains true that the calm of Jim's tempestuous blaze is the calm of Sebastian's inner core. He has always been the physically restless sort, feeding a need to move, to act, to have purpose in his step. He has long channeled this into writing for the necessary moments where action was limited; the more restless he is, the more he writes.

But for the moment, only idle thoughts skip along and most of them have a singular name and face. The one he glances to now and again, eventually lifting blond higher to watch the light of the fire illuminate the little star in his arms. Jim cares little for the Earth as he does for the great sky, but on Earth, Aries and Gemini are side by side.


	14. Let the Flames Begin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reaching as I sink down into light.
> 
> The story of Moriarty and Moran, from the very beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This will be updated every Saturday!**
> 
> We have quite a bit of thanks to send out this week! 
> 
> As always, we must thank our lovely [Hippano](http://hippano.tumblr.com/) for all her artwork and beta reading.   
> We also have a new editor on board! Thank you so much [Bizarreserenity](http://bizarreserenity.tumblr.com/) for your help!   
> And last but certainly not least, we want to thank [Pieofthelord](http://pieofthelord.tumblr.com/) for being our French consultant! <3

In sleep this deep, Jim falls into dreams. There’s warmth at his back and at his face that bleeds into the subconscious visions, influencing their nature.

His fingers blaze and spark, and around him is a layer of fire, licking at his hair and clothes, but not consuming him. He is the fire, flame made flesh. Wherever he steps, the ground singes and burns.

Everything he touches goes up in flames until he can no longer read or write, for paper becomes ash in nearly no time at all. He avoids other people at all cost and stays in a stone cave where the rock wont burn. He becomes isolated, lonely, and eventually it drives him mad.

He returns to the world in search of companionship, but everyone he touches is set ablaze, flesh melting off gleaming white skulls until bones too, crumble and become ash. No one can handle his heat, his flame, his destruction.

And then there is Sebastian.

He is gorgeous and strong but Jim wants to keep his distance. He cannot burn too. But the blond insists, imploring he won't turn to ash like all the others. Still, Jim stays away, lingering in the distance no matter how much Sebastian bids him to come forwards.

And then Sebastian isn't asking. He is taking, grabbing Jim and pulling him close. And Jim fights, struggling to get away before he sets fire to this beautiful boy as well. But Sebastian pushes him to the ground, smothering him with his entire body until the flames are snuffed out and Jim has his first gasping inhale of a world he can no longer burn.

And he is gasping and writhing in the real world too, choking on the very air that fills his lungs.

\---

He can't tell how long it has been, unable to keep track of time by way of the stars like Jim might. With no clock, the world simply passes by and Sebastian keeps watch, half drifting in and out of conscious thought and idle space filled with a feeling of no definition. He is convinced of Jim's real sleep, a steady pace of breath underneath his hands.

He's been sitting here long enough to be lulled by the hum of forest chatter, interrupted by the eerie call of nocturnal creatures now and again. So he’s startled mildly when he finally perceives the sharper twitching of the body he cradles. How long has he been fidgeting?

"Jim?"

Craning to look over Jim's shoulder and read his distressed expression, he finds the younger boy gasping for air though nothing keeps it from his lungs. Sebastian shifts Jim in his arms and reaches up to cup his face with his good hand, thumb on his chin.

"Jim." Firmer this time.

\---

Eyelids twitch and flutter, opening half mast but revealing glazed eyes that are still forcibly trapped in an REM cycle of sleep. The hazy figure of Sebastian looms over him and his throat constricts even more, a heavy weight pressing down on his chest. His muscles twitch as he tries to move, but his fingers only writhe, grasping for the body that crushes down on top of him.

A whimpering sound leaves his throat, dying on his lips before it ever becomes a moan. He’s awake, but he isn’t awake. Frustration and fear grab hold of his heart and squeeze impossibly tight, and he desperately tries to suck in another smoky breath. Moisture collects at the corner of his eye and spills down his cheek, and he tries to call back, Sebastian's name nothing more than a disjointed hiss.

\---

His heart starts to race, frantically searching Jim's face as lashes flutter and eyes dart without focus. It’s too much like death; his skin is too pale, the rings beneath his eyes too dark. The shadows cast from the fire are drastic and flickering and it reminds him too much of the blue eyed death staring back at him from his lap. His fingertips catch moisture.

And it’s panic that fills his chest, stricken like ribs curling inward to press against his organs. He’s less delicate in shifting Jim, fluffy black in the crook of his useless arm while he gives Jim a shake of his upper body.

"Jim!"

His hand dives back up to his face to catch it from falling limp against his arm and he can't control the distress that wavers his voice. "Jim, wake up!"

\---

The shake manages to wake him completely, the jostle of his shoulders and neck jerking him up out of the clutch of sleep paralysis that had made him prisoner inside his own body. Eyelids snap all the way open and he gasps again, this time managing to draw in a proper lungful of air. His arms flail out and he jerks up to sit, small body shaking as awareness rushes back.

He hates it. Hates feeling trapped inside his own body, helpless.

He turns and looks up at Sebastian, who looks scared for the first time since Jim has known him. Not from threat or pain, but this. And it's unbearable, worse than being held in that half-awake state where his body is useless. He throws himself at that solid chest, shuddering as he wraps his arms around Sebastian and buries his face against the older boy's neck.

\---

His hand falls to Jim's chest as the other boy sits up suddenly, resting over the top of that rapidly fluctuating cage which his own lungs seem to sync with. Jim is shaking and he hates it, wants to get rid of it, because it's too much like fear and no such thing belongs mingling inside of a little star destined to burn the world to ash. But he doesn't know what to do, what he can smash and destroy to make it stop. So he stares, helpless and disturbed when Jim turns to look at him.

He half expects the younger boy to lash out at him for being so useless, but Jim presses into his body and arms immediately react to curl tight around the small frame nestling itself close. It _is_ unbearable. That he can do nothing to fight demons inside of Jim even when he knows they are there; he has always known. There's no need for explanations and stories, you don't build up walls of mistrust and violent recourse for nothing at all. He's seen firsthand what people do when brilliance flickers before their eyes. Even if these are the things which make the little star burn so brilliantly, he hates the toll they take because it is a battle he cannot fight; neither as champion or hunter.

\---

Jim breathes in great gulps of air that smell like Sebastian- the older boy has been invading every bit of him; his clothing, his soaps, his body, and now, his dreams. Those arms are squeezing tight around him and they anchor him back down to this world. He tastes salt and smoke against his lips and he chases it. Frantically kissing what skin he can above the thick collar of the heavy jacket, Jim presses close and digs his fingers into warm body, flesh that refuses to burn.

He needs to take his mind off the dream, the nightmare, the terror. It's suffocating him and he can't dwell on it or he'll begin to unravel. Jim arches up and whispers in Sebastian's ear.

“Take me to bed."

It's not begging, pleading. It's still an order, even if there's a tinge of desperation to it. He's not like Sebastian, he won't discuss his dreams. He wants to forget them. He is constantly running from sleep to avoid them.

\---

His cheek tilts against Jim as if to look at him, but he's pressed too close and there's nothing to see but the tousled thickness of jet black above slender shoulders wrapped in a blue jumper too big. He should snuff out the fire, but he won't. Put the various items away into their bags, but he hasn't. He should secure the rifle, which still needs to be reloaded and taken to the tent just in case of rain, but he doesn't. He obeys an order that weighs on his throat as if the blade of a kitchen knife were still pressed against it, reminding him.

Sebastian unfurls his good arm and uses it to slip under Jim's knees, because he said take and that's what he'll do. He gathers up the little star and guides him to his demands. The tent is not far, a few steps on the other side, so he carries Jim past the little pit of flame he created with his small hands and kneels down again to shuffle them inside of their flimsy little house where the bedroll has already been laid out and Jim has already tucked away his belongings.

\---

Sebastian carries Jim and there is absolutely no protest to it, and if that isn't evidence of how shaken up he is, then nothing else would be. He continues to hold onto Sebastian like the lifeline he's become, face pushed into thick blond hair and his eyes squeezed shut even though his fellow stars shine above, blinking worriedly down at the boy stranded below on Earth.

Even as he's laid down, he doesn't let go of Sebastian, pulling him down to cover the smaller body with his larger frame. Jim's skinny legs wrap around the older boy's waist and there's no space between them, not a single breath of air. The bedroll at his back isn't as luxurious as Sebastian's mattress, but it's better than the damp, muddy ground of the park. Thin fingers shake as they push at Sebastian's jacket, clawing it off his shoulders hurriedly. He needs to touch and be touched, to clear his head from the darkness that encroaches, devoid of even the light from the stars.

\---

There's no time for anything else, Jim demands his every bit of attention and Sebastian gives it to him. Small hands tremble and he hates it; he wants to take hold of them and keep them steady. They push and pull at his jacket with wordless demand and Sebastian uses the only hand he has to try and help shrug it off that much faster but he's half useless and it's frustrating now more than ever.

Once it's fallen to the wayside of their tight little space, he elbows the bedroll with his poor arm and puts his weight on it to keep his body from crushing Jim, but they’re pressed close and his dominant right takes a dive under blue jumper, gliding up over the slender hip it stops to rest on. Blond gets mixed with black as he leans down to press his mouth to Jim's jaw, breath falling out on his pale skin as it circles heavy in his chest.

\---

Jim tilts his head as the mouth moves over his jaw and fire spreads over his skin from those lips and the drag of fingers that have pushed under his jumper to circle his hip like they always seem to do. Jim's mind is racing and he feels Sebastian's weight shift to the arm pressed above his head. He's concentrating on not crushing Jim, even though he has but one good hand. Jim sets his own on the blond's broad chest and pushes him off and over onto his back, a feat he only manages because Sebastian goes where he is lead.

Jim climbs on top of Sebastian, straddling his hips and reaching for the hem of his jumper, tugging it over his head and tossing it to the side. He folds back down and clasps Sebastian's face, mouthing kisses up his neck and nipping at his throat, tracing the map of bruises he's left there with his tongue.

\---

He follows Jim's lead and this is so much better for the time they have to suffer through his plastered wrist. It's divine to have Jim straddle his hips, to press down into him, for his mouth to find his neck where marks already make nonsense patterns on his skin. Yet there's a weight in Sebastian's chest still clutching around his heart and he tries hard to swallow it down and ignore it, both hands finding Jim to touch and hold.

Left settles on hip for a squeeze that wiggles under trouser layer but his right hand circles that little form and slides up his back, to the center column which pressure finds ridged with knots as it slides back down.

\---

Jim's slight weight must be nothing to Sebastian, because he bears it without effort. The slender hips roll to accommodate the press of plaster cast and its fingers, and the drag of digits up his spine make him shiver, sighing out against the older boy's neck with trembling lips.

"I need you, Sebastian."

And it's soft, so soft, and it's perhaps as close as he's ever going to get to admitting anything. Jim needs him, and Sebastian needs him in return. He raises back up and bites his lip, hands skimming down to unfasten the button and fly on Sebastian's denims, pushing down the fabric with cool fingertips till it reaches Jim's thighs, and then he rocks up onto his knees and pushes them down and away.

\---

So soft, that voice utters words which dig right into his skin. Sebastian exhales, nearly unsteady as lashes momentarily meet and his lips part. It’s fire, lava tumbling rapidly through his veins and it works to stir him out of his hesitation, even when the clutch on his heart seems to tighten like a warning.

Jim is already at work, trying to get rid of more layers, never mind the cold they are barely protected from out here. He'll have to keep the brunet warm in his pale skin, bruises abloom on not just his neck and they make Sebastian's bones ache. But he gets his hands on Jim's waist to steady him as he lifts just barely off the ground to let the denim be pushed away. Now he won’t tolerate him being gone long, fingers fumbling clasps open to loosen what was already too big on that slender body. The fire casts strange and wicked shadows into the tent where they lay but it gives him the light to see Jim's face as he urges another layer to be removed before Jim returns to him, fingers hooking on beltline to tug down towards thighs straddling.

\---

Jim wriggles out of the denims, shifting to kick them away to join Sebastian's in a pile at the foot of their tent, coupled with boots and trainers. He presses back down against Sebastian and pushes his hands up under the hem of his shirt, shoving it over his head impatiently to bare more of the older boy's skin. Once the material is pulled free, Jim immediately drops down and presses a kiss to Sebastian's mouth. Its heated and urgent, and he whines for entrance, tongue pressing to the seam of the blond's lips.

\---

Though the shirt is not a terribly thick layer, it's been warmed by him all day and its sudden removal allows a chill to collide with his skin. He huffs softly just in time because Jim steals away his mouth for better things not a moment later. He denies impatient tongue nothing, parting lips for it to dive into his mouth and his own to tangle in urgent greetings, too long since the last.

Hands find thighs that fingers run up along and only one can fulfill his desire to knead and fondle hips and arse, pulling Jim tighter to his body, firmer into the hungry kiss.

\---

As tongues slide together, Jim feels a frisson of relief roll through his body, and he sighs into the kiss, deepening it. The hand that roughly squeezes at the jut of his hip and rubs fingertips across the small curve of Jim's arse makes the boy moan into Sebastian's mouth, encouraging more of the rough treatment. The blond seems to focus on the few areas on Jim's body that are actually plush and Jim supposes it's best for bearing the abuse on the bits of him that have that small bit of padding.

His own hands slip up around Sebastian's neck, fingers curling tightly into the thick blond and tugging the strands in his fists, pulling the older boy's head back till he's exchanging tongue for teeth and biting at lips. There's only a thin barrier of fabric separating them now, and Jim shifts his hips in a debauched roll, pressing them together in search of the friction that will result in the quieting of his mind.

\---

A sensual sound tangles with escaping air as blond is tugged and body stirs against his. Avid fingers squeeze and press, dragging short nails to pull flesh and fabric, spreading apart cute little cheeks. Release gives greedy hand a chance to slap lightly, softened by material but a gesture which cups plusher curve in large hand, displaying his budding arousal as he arcs into Jim's amorous hips. Fabric is a pesky thing but it's not without some advantage, creating a teasing barrier between them which brushes together in lewd appetite and pleasant heat.

\---

As that slap finds its way to his arse, Jim tilts down to angle his bites to Sebastian's chin instead, working his way up the solid line of his jaw till he can sink his teeth into a fleshly cheek, biting down hard and without prejudice to the other boy's face good and proper. He's not against the action per se, but he's not going to let the blond get away with it without suffering his own punishments. His hips rock more fervently, forming a rhythm that drags the soft insides of his thighs across Sebastian's clothed erection.

\---

"Aaa-" it's almost an opened mouthed hiss, jaw cocked as Jim bites into his cheek. The sting of enamel pinching flesh sends a thrill through his body, head tilted back and throat exposed to show the fluctuation of tendons as he breathes. It's not tender but it isn't vicious retaliation and he can't control how Jim's ferocity riles him down to the marrow.

Fingers dig into small hip and reinforce the rhythm that's begun, exhale fraying under the firm caress of fabric and soft thigh against his cock. Good right drags upward of Jim's spine, to shoulder blades and base of neck where they curl half dipping into jet black strands, interrupting steady pace with the buck of hips anxious for more contact.

\---

As Sebastian secures his hip, Jim squeezes his thighs together and rocks faster, dragging out more friction as the larger body presses against him. He breaks away from his biting with a shuddering gasp, tilting his forehead against the cheek he's abused as he screws his eyes up and chases the feeling, lost in the sensation.

When the older boy's fingers dip into his hair and he bucks up eagerly, fire burns through Jim anew and he jerks up, Sebastian's fingers pull at his scalp as they're forced away with the momentum. Jim levers up on his knees and grabs hold of the waistband of Sebastian's boxers, tugging and pushing them down to the middle of the blond's thighs. Clothing has become an annoying hassle and he drags his own away as well, pushing them off quickly before settling back down onto Sebastian's lap. Remaining upright this time, Jim reaches down to pull Sebastian's cock up between his thighs, snuggling it up against his less impressive member. Skinny thighs press together and Jim looks right down at those blue eyes as he starts to ride Sebastian with a slow, rocking snap of his hips, undulating back and forth.

\---

Sebastian protests the loss of Jim's closeness, fingers flexing as he pulls away, gasping as the weight lifts off his torso. Blue eyes snap open to track the Irish boy's movements, impatience tugging at the last of layers to rid them of barriers which had no right get between them. After picking his head up to watch spidery hands fuss with fabric, blond thumps back against the bedroll as he's exposed to the chill and the full length of his cock bounds from confinement.

He could have started a physical riot against the idea of Jim being so far away but the smaller body settles atop him and wastes no time finding them together, sliding between milky thighs and rubbing up against familiar heated flesh. Hands clasp Jim's thighs as they squeeze around him, airy open-mouth moan spilling out of Sebastian because bloody hell, it’s Jim and he’s fucking perfect. Nails dig into the pale skin and drag as those hips move, shifting on top of him in a tantalizing display he can't tear his eyes away from. He can scarcely control his desire to thrust into the tightness between Jim's legs and though he craves that mouth, all that manages to pour out of his own is a breathless hitch of his little star's name.

\---

It's empowering to watch Sebastian unravel beneath him, moaning and calling Jim's name. His small body continues to roll, a sinuous movement that slides down the length of his torso. Dark eyes never leave the older boy's face and Jim's own visage is a mask of concentration as he focuses on providing Sebastian with the proper friction that produces those sounds from the blond's kiss swollen mouth.

Delicate fingers reach down and glide over the silky foreskin covering the head of Sebastian's prick that peeks out from between his thighs. He guides his hand to match the same paces of his rocking hips, dragging up over shaft and glans to work him towards completion. He ignores himself, needing to take control, take charge of what's building between them. His whole body is crying out for relief, his own weeping cock nestled up against the larger one as it throbs, hot and thick. But it’s Sebastian that he wants, to see him fall over that precipice. It's Sebastian that he needs, and he repeats it in that breathy, soft voice, barely above a whisper.

\---

It's the words, the voice that tumbles out of Jim's adorable mouth, breathless and soft and so needy that it melts into Sebastian's skin and stays there. He is falling apart, unwinding like a fallen spool of thread that tumbles across a wooden floor endlessly. Blond pushes back against the bedroll and chin tilts and a moan falls from him, enticed by the utter delight of Jim's everything. It's a pleasure he feels no guilt for, Jim's control, even when they fight for it. He tries not to break the contact of their gaze even when lashes threaten him with a flutter.

Sebastian is swiftly losing his ability to hold back, hands and soft thighs and hot flesh all working against his sense to give in to Jim. Hips buck and thrust to compliment the rhythm which brings him into the tight caress, a soft slap of skin to pale skin like satin, hands sliding up higher to Jim's waist to keep him balanced as nails press into the dip around protruding knots of pelvic bone. Air starts to hitch and gasp and that's all he can do to keep oxygen in his lungs until he's suddenly holding it, muscles tensing, fingers clenched as his hips arc up into Jim's touch and he exhales.

"Jim- f-fuck."

\---

Jim gasps as Sebastian finally starts to thrust up into the tight space between the smaller boy's thighs, sending Jim bouncing atop his lap with the force of it. He scrambles to catch himself with his other hand, reaching back behind him to dig his unoccupied hand into the meat of Sebastian's thigh, nails biting into the flesh as he steadies himself. His whole body is stretched taut like a bowstring, curving in a pale line as he throws his head back and rides Sebastian's jerking hips as best he can before he's completely jostled off.

Hearing Sebastian stutter out a curse is victory. Feeling Sebastian lose control beneath him is victory. Jim doesn't want to let himself go, because he wants to keep watch over his hunter, over his champion. But Jim is starting to tumble, with only strong hands at his hips keeping him steady. The more fervent thrusts bring Sebastian's cock against Jim's, and the smaller boy is crying out with every stroke, his body shifting to accommodate the new friction. Sebastian is usually so quiet, concentrating on Jim's pleasure before he gives into his own. But Jim wants more cries from the blond's lips. So he doesn't let himself fall too far, fingers curling around Sebastian in a loose fist that he can thrust into.

\---

Jim's nails press into his skin and make Sebastian sigh a delighted moan, another sensation added to the overload that has taken hold of him, pushing him towards his edge. Jim's vocalizations burn straight to his core, as if it were possible to arouse him any further- but Jim finds a way. The sounds only encourage him to continue, thrusting into silky pressed thighs and soft hand, abandoning his effort to keep eyes open after watching the throwback of dark hair and exposure of pale throat. The obscene slap of flesh meeting starts to catch his breath even as it sticks in his lungs like an impulse, getting all the more shallow as he forgets how to breathe.

Every nerve feels alight, screaming like a wildfire which rushes straight to his groin, freezing his hips in an upward tilt when every part of him tenses underneath the smaller frame. He claws those precious hips as he comes, spilling onto soft skin as his unrestrained moan utters barely intelligible German about a little star, swallowed up by a gasp as he rocks his hips another time, throbbing between warm legs in his climax.

\---

The gush of wet warmth between his legs makes him gasp anew, and a flushed face turns down to watch the pearly white liquid spread over hand and thigh. Fingers dig at his hips, surely leaving bruises, but the pain goes unnoticed, because nothing, nothing is like that string of foreign words spilling from Sebastian's mouth. The older boy is absolutely gorgeous in his inhibitions, letting himself go and just giving into emotion and sensation. His look of pure, unbridled ecstasy strokes something satisfying within Jim, and that more than anything else is what tumbles him over afterwards, shuddering out his own orgasm with a moaning wail that steals his breath and makes his lungs burn.

The tiny body collapses forwards finally, crushing down against Sebastian's chest. His limp form hasn't even the energy to properly curl into a ball, just laying as he falls, too weak and exhausted to manage a proper cuddle. His mind is racing and then quiet all at once. And that, beyond anything else, is _wonderful_.

\---

Sebastian's hands loosen their grip if only to catch the smaller body as it falls forward, fingers sliding up along slender sides until they brush over ribs and Jim is flush against him. His plastered arm can't bend the way he desires so it slips around the smaller frame, pressing their waists together as air heaves inside of meeting chests. They tumble into little more than gasps of breath and heated skin as they lie together in the flickering light of the fire dancing outside their small, flimsy sanctuary, an ease rolling through Sebastian from blond head to long legs as blue gazes upward in a haze. He could almost convince himself he was staring at stars above his head but it's just Jim laying against him and that's the only bright light he needs burning in his life.

When the storm in his chest begins to calm, uninhibited fingers caress skin, chasing away the chill of England night as he brushes up and down spine and shoulder blades, finally dipping into fluffy dark hair where he massages fingers against Jim's scalp slowly. There's no hurry, he doesn't want Jim to move, content just like this as chemicals snap through him and everything smolders pleasantly within.

\---

Jim has no desire to roll away and clean him up, or put the required distance between them in an attempt to convince himself that he's not becoming dependent on the boy beneath him. Because he is. Sebastian is the steady constant that is always there, and it's no sacrifice to suffer through his affections because Jim is feeling affectionate himself. If Jim is stuck here on Earth, it's not so bad to be tethered to Sebastian, rather than floating aimlessly through a world that can't see his light.

He hums, a barely audible sound as Sebastian's fingers move over his body and then finally settle in his hair. Maybe he's far too lenient with allowing so much touching, because every drag of digits is dragging him further down. But he's too relaxed to really put up a protest, or really even care. He's comfortable and warm, and the cage of Sebastian's arms doesn't feel horribly confining.

Closing his eyes, he breathes against the older boy's collarbone, ignoring the rest of the world beyond the one that's created here, inside of a tiny little tent.

\---

He should be concerned about the open fire. The rifle. The supplies left out. This is England and it's bound to rain again when they aren't looking but Sebastian cares for none of these things. His senses phase back into sharp awareness, feeling the weight of Jim's body as he relaxes; a stark contrast to impatience and need which had temporarily consumed him; them. For a moment, Sebastian remembers what Jim said about quieting his mind and he half smiles to himself because it's so much better to have Jim calm this way than to recall the empty expression too kin to death.

A sigh falls out of him, body and mind satisfied perhaps too easily out of their worries, his arms content to keep Jim safe and warm even if he should be bold to think himself so. Jim allows this; permits Sebastian to be this close and stay together for lengths of time where he can indulge in his indescribable need for _something_. Does he even realize? It's not just the thrill of unpredictable violence or the slow burn of brightness that consumes him, it's something Sebastian can't put to word in all his foreign and domestic vocabulary. That idea, _obsession_ , is as close to understanding as one can get to truths which are too complex for simple minds to comprehend. Maybe neither of them seek to name it anymore than that.

Jim's breath on his warm skin is vivid to his nerves, as if they trace every brush of air that falls from lips sweet with poison. He considers that they should get beneath the layered cover to keep warm, but he doesn't move for a length of time, giving Jim his peace for as long as peace can last. Blue falls behind lids and lashes, listening to each breath beneath the whisper of the forest and the quiet call of night birds.

\---

Sebastian is better than any mattress or bedroll; a strong, solid warmth that breathes and pulses with life below him. His embraces aren't stifling and though he's obsessed, he doesn't try to take control over Jim, only wishing to bask in the wake of destruction the small Irish boy suffers upon the world. But Sebastian doesn't seem to suffer, somehow immune to the flames. Perhaps one day, Jim will discover how to make him burn as well, but for now, he prefers his companion to be less flammable than the other people in this world.

Jim exhales a sigh and trades the hard lines of the blond's collarbone for the smoother curve of his neck instead, burrowing into the warm skin like a parasite searching for the best spot in which to stake his claim and begin infecting his host.

"Was that German?" He mumbles lazily into the side of Sebastian's neck.

\---

He feels so very aware of everything, of skin and motion and silken hair between his fingers. Sebastian lifts his chin and tilts his jaw, making space for Jim as he nuzzles into the bruise marked crook of tan. Fingers slide to the base of Jim's neck, loose and resting where his thumb traces invisible patterns, biting bottom lip when Jim breaks their silent peace with a question. Teeth let the kiss-swollen flesh ease free when his smile stretches and he laughs softly.

"Yes." So he'd caught it.

"Mein sternchen." He repeated, leaving out the swear involved somewhere in his breath. "My mother was German. She insisted on speaking to me in Deutsch for much of my life."

\---

Jim's quiet again as Sebastian explains, savoring the slow knead of fingers into the back of his neck. Jim's never had any sort of massage before and though this isn't exactly a proper rub down, it feels lovely against muscles that are always tensed and stiff.

Jim doesn't know German but he makes a mental note to learn it. He can see bits of the heritage in Sebastian's features, but didn't realize it was so prominent. Sebastian's accent is Englishman, through and through, and Jim should know, he has an ear for them. He also can hear the reverence in Sebastian's tone as he speaks of his mother. She meant quite a bit to him, that much is obvious.

Turning just enough so his words aren't muffled, Jim asks, because not knowing is something Jim hates. "What does it mean?"

\---

Sebastian isn't embarrassed, difficult to think of a thing that would actually make him so, but he's mildly uncertain how Jim will respond to the term that's been uttered by him. He licks his lips, eyes by now open again and glancing down at dark hair tousled atop the young Irish boy's head.

"My little star." Of course, it is not the first time he has referred to Jim this way, but there's a mild claim there that is new. There is a spoken understanding that he belongs to Jim but _my_ did not hold the possessive connotation in this way. The term was more of endearment, to consider someone affectionately as the light of life.

\---

Jim's never had a term of endearment. He's never been called anything affectionate, certainly not from his father and he can't recall if his mother had called him anything at all, since she'd barely acknowledged his existence. But Sebastian names him as easily as he takes a breath. And it’s tolerable, the connection easily seen without being too sappy. Jim can accept being a star.

But can he accept being Sebastian's? He knows it's what the blond wants, it's why he's spirited Jim away to his home and to the woods, why he continues to pursue Jim beyond all rational thought. The younger boy reaches up and slides his hand over Sebastian's, stroking the backs of knuckles and then finally intertwining the together, pale with tan. It’s answer enough, Jim's not interested in anyone else. He'll be Sebastian's star, until he finds a way back to the sky.

\---

It seems Jim accepts this title he's been given, as there are no protests made; he is but a little light sparkling in the cloudy darkness, the brightness of whichis ever growing. He smiles to himself and fingers squeeze the ones which entangle with his, moving his hand to better fit with Jim's as they lay there. The fire still burns outside and it chases a bit of the cold away but there is still a chill creeping in even on sunny tan. He'll have to convince Jim to move eventually, at least to get beneath the top cover of the bedroll.

For now, he remains idle, his plastered arm still resting around the smaller waist, fingers occasionally caressing Jim's bare skin. There are many things he's yet to tell Jim and yet to learn in return. Asking questions continues to be a delicate procedure, but the subject has arisen and he dares to pursue it.

"You spoke Gaelic the other day." Something he could recognize, because his ear for languages was fair to him.

"Were you born in Ireland?"

\---

At that, Jim smiles and turns his head a bit better to regard Sebastian. He likes it when the older boy is clever, even if in general he is not, for his infatuation with Jim is clearly daft. 

"Yes, it was Gaelic. If it isn't obvious, I'm Irish. Grew up outside of Dublin." Jim isn't going to be coaxed out of his warm laze for a bit, and it grows evident as his posture becomes more relaxed, molding onto the solid figure beneath him.

"I know more than that. I know all the romantic languages, which is a ridiculous name by the way. French is too nasal to be the language of love." He makes a face and plays with the tips of Sebastian's fingers.

\---

Sebastian smiles too, trying to tilt his head so that he can better see the other boy as he speaks, shedding light on just a bit more of the enigma. Outside of Dublin was it. Being Irish is an easy guess, accent and language both recognizable to him. Eton has a small handful of Irish bred boys and it's considered deplorable for aristocracy not to know their own language. And what better way to speak secrets than languages little known outside of your own country? Once Sebastian hears a language, he liked to commit its sound to memory.

He huffs a light laugh at Jim's critical review of French, his hand staying loose as the digits are toyed with. "All of them?"

He doesn't hide the impression in his tone, grinning a little. "I'll have to catch up. My latest venture is Spanish but I find classrooms lacking. Aveline has been teaching me French for years. Before Eton- you probably know, part of looking focused is cheating when you're ahead of the curriculum."

A little laugh.

"French just sounds romantic to people because of the way it's spoken. Lower your tone and articulate slowly, anything sounds seductive."

\---

"I'll teach you. If you teach me German. Deal?" He squeezes Sebastian's hand and it's decided before the boy can even give a reply. It doesn't matter, because Sebastian will agree to nearly anything.

At the mention of French being seductive because of its tone, Jim props himself up a bit on his elbows and lowers his voice, the words spilling from his lips as he speaks them clearly.

"Je vais dévorer ton âme, et pourtant une fois cela fait, tu voudras que je prenne toujours plus, jusqu'à ce qu'il ne reste plus rien.” (I will devour your soul, and yet you’ll still want me to take more until there is nothing left.*)

\---

Of course he agrees, his smile says as much well before he nods in finality of their decision. To learn from brilliance was privilege, to teach it was an honor.

That expression stretches as Jim props up a bit more, giving Sebastian a better view as words form on pretty lips to prove his point beautifully. Perhaps the blond is biased, Jim's voice already a well forming kink to his senses. A tongue slips out across his lips slowly and it's obvious he's drawn in.

"Quelle valeur peut bien avoir une âme si elle n'est pas dévorée?" (What is a soul worth if it is not devoured?)

\---

Sebastian's reply is enough to draw him in and he begins his promise, pressing his mouth down against the older boy's, and as devourings go, it's lazy like the rest of his post coital movements. But kisses had been severely lacking with their chosen position and he has several to catch up. And he seriously doubts Sebastian is going to mind him taking, not when kisses are far less frequent then scowls and stares.

\---

No, kisses are most definitely not a thing that Sebastian minds, neither taken or being devoured by the smolder of his little star's brilliance. He tilts into the kiss, curling fingers tighter with Jim's while the less useful of limbs continues to brush thumb slowly in circles on softer skin. Lazy suits them fine in their own little world, nothing to agitate their peace, nor interrupt their play for catch up as a tongue slides gently over Jim's lips as if willing to take whatever poison was offered if it meant stealing a taste.

\---

When the bold tongue slips over his lips, Jim responds by pressing his own slick pink muscle across Sebastian's in return, then down into parted lips to explore the depths of the moist cavern beyond. He's memorized the inside of Sebastian's mouth before, but it doesn't hurt to keep up study in the subject. Jim likes taking control over the older boy like this, pressing down on the broad body beneath him. Jim is small but he is obviously in charge here. Sebastian relinquishes control over to Jim so easily, that blind trust rushing through his veins. The younger boy squeezes their intertwined hands and then tugs them up and over their heads, pinning the limb to the bedroll. Jim has found his throne, and his champion, and they are the same person. They are Sebastian. And he's said forever, so Jim will take forever from him.

\---

Is it blind trust or playing chance with the devil when a boy flirts with dangerous creatures? No, Sebastian isn't harmless for certain but where Jim is concerned, he relinquishes all claim of being in power, a thing he fights fang and claw for in this world.

The movement of his hand meets no resistance, a leg bending up slightly as he shifts under the burdenless weight of the other boy, his other arm securing Jim that he might stay with him even though the promise is always there that if he wants to be released, he will be. Sebastian never tires of that warm little mouth, whatever cruelty it is capable of, still velvet of touch and yet powerful. They always seem to fight over who leads the kiss; who takes dominance in a dance of tongues. Even in laziness, such is the case, as Sebastian impedes study with playful insistence. Even when the lead is won over by Jim's dominance, he is never so tamed that he stops testing his boundaries, always yearning for more.

Jim's mouth was his very first temptation, one that bit him like an adder and simmered venom in his veins until he was an addict.

\---

Jim is aware of the plastered hand at his waist and the leg propping itself up beside his hip. Sebastian's body is betraying his own desires, moving to claim Jim as his own now that the boy has given no outward objection to it. Sebastian has courted him in the primal ways, providing food and shelter, and even protection. And further, he's now provided all of it with his bare hands. It's a primitive claim but Jim can't find fault in it, not when he's pulling his small body closer, not when he wants Jim beyond all rational reason. Not when he isn't pushing him away even after he has gotten what he's wanted. Jim exhales into the kiss and fills Sebastian's mouth with the last of his air and with a final press of his tongue against the one flicking roguishly at his lips in constant defiance, Jim pulls back to get in a proper breath to his lungs. He doesn't move far though, looking down at the boy who has claimed him, who calls him a star and sees him, not through him. And Jim's content. He's not sure if it’s happy; happy has been absent in his life so long. But he smiles and he laughs and he hasn't hated a single thing on hours so this must be happiness...right? So he says as much to Sebastian, in another soft sigh.

"I think I'm happy. Right now, this moment. It's good."

\---

Sebastian takes in Jim's air like a livelihood and kisses him with quieted passion; even as it ends, he cradles reluctance in his heart to allow it, though he holds no power over a star. But Jim is peaceful and the expression he wears makes him look so much younger, even when he isn't quite smiling- like the only tell of his age is the depth of dark eyes which watch him. Infinite brilliance trapped in the body of a boy.

He speaks and something in Sebastian's chest unfurls and just then he realizes that it's been coiled tight for so long he'd forgotten what it was like to relax the muscle. A smile doesn't just stretch his face or beam prominently, it delicately chisels itself out like an old statue which reveals its features under a layer of dust. A smile that suggests that this is the only thing it is made for; the only thing for which it is genuine. And he doesn't want to look that way because it's so very dangerous to feel that content, even for a moment. But this little world belongs to them, carved out amongst stone and wetness and rot so they could hide away even for a little while. All he can do is squeeze smaller fingers, press a little closer, be his. Because Jim thinks he's happy. And Sebastian adores him.

\---

Jim presses into the crook of Sebastian's neck and cuddles close, curling against him and ignoring the world in favor of their own. He chases the feeling of happiness he thinks he's found. It’s something like performing a new experiment, or finding a new book on astrology in the library. Or a bite into a fresh crisp apple, or sleeping without waking up from a nightmare. But it came from just Sebastian and nothing else. Sebastian smiles because of him and that in turn makes him smile. It's something so special, that Jim wants to guard it and keep it safe from everyone else.

Jim doesn't care about fires and guns and supplies and messes. He wriggles about until he's tucked down on the bedroll, up against Sebastian's side. He gives a sleepy yawn and curls hands atop the blond's chest, fingers twitching and clinging, drawing slow, lazy patterns of constellations on to the older boy's torso before he starts to drift off, good and proper this time, without smoke filling his lungs. A new happiness in his heart.

\---

Sebastian does a little bit of his own shifting before they settle, to get them between the layers where a thermal blanket is already tucked because the last thing he particularly wants is the temperature to drop lower and freeze Jim in his content state forever. That suggested a lack of repeat. It will recharge his own warmth as well, because the illusion might suggest he produces constant heat but it can't combat England's chill eternally. Particularly when Jim is stealing it away, which he minds not at all because the coolness of Jim's skin is often relieving to feel.

He forgets about the supplies, rationalizes the fire will burn itself out in the morning mists, the gun will be fine... Jim is considerably more important, as he pulls the upper layer over the both of them and half curls an arm around the smaller figure pressed close. The hand resting on his chest is new and Sebastian likes it, and this time he will lie awake a while to guard Jim from his troubled sleep and the encroaching outside world should it even dare. But he can't stay awake forever and Jim isn't the only one who drifts off with a buzz of happiness simmering inside.

\---

Jim's mind actually clicks off and lets him sleep unmolested. It's so sorely needed, because it has been far too long. His hand never moves from its place on Sebastian's chest, fingers stretched up over his heart like a pale spider lying in wait. There is the occasional twitch of digits, or shifting of a small body to further burrow into the blond's warmth, but it’s nothing like the frantic thrashing from before. It’s just sleep, sleep so deep that nightmares don't find him. And with Sebastian's steady presence, the horrors of the waking world are similarly kept at bay.

Not even morning light filtering through the nylon walls of their tent is enough to rouse him. Jim's face is pressed to Sebastian's side, nestled against his ribs were the thud of the heart beneath is a lullaby that keeps him asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * The translation is more directly: "I will devour your soul, and and yet when I'll be done you'll still want me to take more until there is nothing left."


	15. Aim Your Arrows High

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shoot out all the lights. 
> 
> The story of Moriarty and Moran, from the very beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This will be updated every Saturday!**
> 
> **A warning in this chapter for graphic violence and death.**
> 
> We must thank our brilliant [Hippano](http://hippano.tumblr.com/) for all her artwork and beta reading.  
> And many thanks go out to our newest editor [Bizarreserenity](http://bizarreserenity.tumblr.com/).  
> 

Light has breached the meadow and beamed soft yellow light into their little world. It's still cool and the air is delicately moist, grass glittering under the morning glow like stardust sprinkled across the tall green. The fire has snuffed out, charred through its food to the soil beneath, embers suffocated by the damp hour. It's the first time Sebastian has woken to find Jim still pressed to his side and sleeping peacefully. He just barely begins to stir from his dreams when he becomes aware of the light weight against his chest, sighing with a turn of his head and bleary eyes peering down to find dark fluff and pale skin peeking out from underneath the cover.

They're still warm, he can feel the steady breath falling from lips and fluctuating small chest against his side and he smiles as his eyes insist on falling closed again.

\---

Jim's sleeping soundly and it's a miracle. Peaceful and relaxed or not, Jim was still a far better riser than Sebastian in the morning, and eventually, the blond's stirring about and it wakes Jim up. The small brunet yawns and rubs his face against the older boy's side, sapping out as much warmth as he can before he's completely awoken. Blinking away sleep, he finally pulls his hand from Sebastian's chest to rub at his eyes, wiping them clean of sand and pouting at the fact he was conscious.

Then, as his brain whirs back into its usual rapid grind, he becomes aware of the prickle and itch of dried semen sticking his legs together like glue, and the pleasant easy waking is tossed in disgust as he scowls and scrapes at the inside of a thigh with the edge of a thumb nail. Finally, with a huff, he pushes up and feels around for a jumper, pulling it over his head. He doesn't bother with pants or denims -since the top reaches down to his knees- and crawls out of the tent in search of the creek to go wash up, each movement pulling at his skin and making him grimace. When he comes back, he'll be sure to punch Sebastian awake for leaving him like that.

\---

He was half in, half out by this time. Perfectly content to linger in a partial state where he was warm and Jim was close and all was right in the world because the only one that existed was theirs.

And the thing about mornings he hated so much was that it never lasted. Jim woke up so much faster than he did and in a matter of moments, he was already moving around. Sebastian wasn't sure how it was bloody possible to function that fast after being dead asleep, unless some lingering threat was there to force it. As far as he knew, there was no threat, so it was just Jim being Jim. He peers an eye open lazily to watch him shift about, climbing out of the tent in just a jumper and a peek of bare thigh brings a little grin to the scarred corner of his mouth as he closes his eye again.

It would take a couple minutes but he could convince himself to sit up. Unknowing to the little trip Jim has taken to the creek, he rubs his face with his good hand and grunts. - _Alright Moran. Just put on the pants or you'll freeze your bollocks off._ \- And he does, even though boxers are not much for protection when he crawls out of the tent. It will take him another minute and several popping bones before he can do much more than stand there bleary eyed.

\---

The ground is frozen beneath his feet and Jim quickly pads across the meadow to the creek. He doesn't bother testing the temperature, already factoring it out from the wind chill. He just wades right in, grimacing all over again as the icy water hit his bare legs. Bending over, he pushes his sleeves up and cups them full of water, splashing it up his thighs. Focusing on scrubbing off the dried mess from his legs, he doesn't hear the crunch of grass until it’s accompanied by the click of a gun's hammer being pulled back.

Forcing himself calm, he slowly straightens, looking up to see a destitute drifter aiming a pistol at him. His hand is shaking, but there’s a wild light in his eyes that makes Jim doubt he can be talked down from his grip on that gun.

"That your camp back there? You'll be handing over your supplies, especially that tent. I'll be needing it for the winter, more than you."

\---

After cracking nearly every joint in a habitual lineup of morning stretches, a pop of his neck has him deciding he needs trousers. He ducks down to grab his denims from the pile and shimmies into them, glancing up across the meadow as he fiddles with the zipper and button, searching for wherever Jim has gone off to already. He wasn't a difficult find; Sebastian can see the younger boy standing upright in the creek, holding still as if fixated and for a moment he wonders if Jim has been accompanied by a deer. But the Irish boy is not so tall and he is rather thin and just an incline of blond gives Sebastian a hint of something not at all deer-like in color.

Fingers freeze on his trouser button and abandon it. He moves to get a better view of what is undoubtedly human and for certain, facing Jim. That’s enough to immediately furrow brows, almost starting forward but his chest clenches as he squints past morning blur to catch a glint of something in the morning light. It could be a canteen for all it mattered; his heart suddenly gave a start, sucking in air through his nose and puffing bare tanned chest in a surge.

He gives himself a few seconds to duck down as if he’d seen game on the trail he didn't want to startle, glancing fast over their camp to find his father's rifle propped up on his half deflated pack. It’s half a hope that the stranger is distracted by Jim long enough for the older teenager to grab up the weapon and bury a hand in a pouch to grab extra bullets. Blue eyes flick back and forth to keep an eye on the small figure but the distance is far enough that he can scarcely make out definite movements from here. As quickly and as quietly as hunting has taught him, he and his armful dip into the line of trees, fumbling to reload the gun with one good hand to grip, swearing up and down soundlessly as he uses his teeth to open the bolt.

\---

Jim doesn't even afford a glance back to the aforementioned tent, just carefully straightening so the jumper falls back in place to cover him properly. The rocks at the bottom of the river bed were like blocks of ice, freezing into his heels and toes the longer he stood there.

"Not my tent to give away." He says softly, looking the man in the eye without a shred of fear. That only seems to upset the man further and he steps forwards, pushing the barrel of the gun against Jim's forehead and nudging it back.

"You steal it, you little shite? Or is there someone else back there?" The man glances around Jim towards the camp, trying to catch sight of any other possible occupant. Jim's gaze flicks momentarily to the gun pressing against his forehead. If he said he was alone, the man would probably just shoot him right here.

"There's someone else. And they won't be happy to see you."

"Who, your girlfriend? Who gives a fuck if some cunt is unhappy. I'll take her too. Turn around and march your arse back to the tent."

He shoves at Jim again, making the small boy stumble and splash in the creek, soaking the sleeves of his jumper as he moves to catch himself before he falls face first into shallow the water. 

\---

Gun loaded, it took longer than Sebastian wanted, stealing glances around the tree his back was pressed to in order to check on Jim. He moves, bare feet across rough, cold earth and root making as little noise as he can manage while he slips behind one tree to the next on a path to get closer to the creek. He doesn't want to startle them, too much risk with Jim under focus and he can't yet tell what was in the bastard's hand. The blond jolts to a stop when there is movement ahead, heart pounding angrily and teeth baring visible grit as he lifts the rifle in immediate defense of Jim teetering in the creek. He could take the shot from here but if he missed, if there was even a second to react, Jim could be the one to suffer for it.

There is no longer a question; this person is a threat. A man, dressed shabbily. Carrying a pistol he aims at Jim. A glance through the scope of the rifle narrows the threat down. Sebastian curses under his breath again, lowering the gun halfway as he moves hurriedly to close the gap, upper lip peeled in a snarl as adrenaline goes rushing through his body like a violent force, twisting at the center of his chest in an uproar of protective instinct.

\---

Jim lifts himself out of the river, glancing down at the flash of red that bleeds from his palm where it had caught on a sharp rock in the water. He’s slow getting out of the water, hearing the man splash behind him, gun now pressed against the small of his back to shove him forwards. Jim scans the campsite ahead for any sign of Sebastian, walking slowly. He catches a flash of movement in the copse of trees to the side and knows Sebastian was already aware of the situation. He doesn't even feel pity for the man. He'd seen what the blond had done to someone who just punched him. The threat of death at gunpoint… this man would be lucky if his own death would be swift and painless. He holds his hands up at his sides and moves carefully towards the tent, not too slowly, for when his pace drags, he’s given a rather painful jab to the center of his spine.

\---

He eases his motion when they begin to move, slowing for cover as Jim is urged forward by the muzzle of a weapon which has no business touching brilliance. Hard blue scans Jim for distress as they come closer; the smaller boy wears a familiar expression that utterly lacks fear, yet there’s red on an upheld palm and that has Sebastian’s teeth clenching tighter. A nudge moves the boy along and that’s it, Sebastian is livid.

The rifle is up again, propped on the hard plaster of his cast marked by the constellation of Orion and suddenly, Sebastian is the hunter once more, stalking his prey. As they pass by his position, the tall blond slips out from behind the tree and traces an arch to match their steps. They’re almost to the camp but they won't be making it that far. Jim is nudged in the spine by the pistol again and an ugly fate is sealed, this bloody fuck is dead. Sebastian has his finger on the trigger and he doesn't need the scope to press the rifle to the back of this bastard's head, right up behind him in nothing flat. One second. He has all of one second to recall his entire life's worth of ill choices, to realize he’s dead before the shot rings out. Birds scatter from their roosts, somewhere nearby deer probably flee, rabbits likely startled awake in their meadow dens, but between Jim and Sebastian, a body drops to the grass.

\---

The gunshot rings out through the meadow, vibrating into his ears, deafening the world around him to a muddy buzz. It is unpleasant, yes, but obviously this discomfort means he is not dead. Warm, wet liquid drips down the back of his neck and soaks into his scalp. He doesn't feel any pain or pressure, so apparently he hasn't been shot, unless the bullet severed through his spine. At least Sebastian would get his wish when he ended up having to tote Jim around without the boy having the use of his limbs.

But alas, no, he is still standing. Slowly, Jim turns around and sees Sebastian standing behind him, holding the rifle. His gaze drops to the man who'd been leading him back to camp, now bleeding all over the grass at his feet. Jim slowly edges away before the blood seeps towards his bare feet in a gushing spill, staring at the pulpy pink mass of brain matter and muscle tissue that used to be a face.

"Oh," he says softly, though he doesn't hear it echo back in his head. Jim doesn't seem perturbed by the sight of the freshly dead corpse at all. His hand lifts and he turns the palm to face him, staring at the blood oozing from the fresh cut. He flips his hand and there is splatters of brain and blood there too. There is no difference between the two.

"Oh," he repeats.

\---

Sebastian isn't deafened by the sound but he may well be blinded by the mess it produces. It takes him a prolonged minute to lower the gun, first his plastered arm where the barrel rests and slowly, halfway, the rifle, eyes falling straight downward as they pass entirely through the boy standing across from him. Something is swollen inside of him and it's there on his face, in the darkened blue of his eyes; a familiar anger that so rarely allows itself to bubble up in pure, unfiltered form.

Here. Even here, in the near isolation of wilderness where the world was momentarily theirs, something- _SOMEONE_ had to breach their sanctuary and disturb it violently. There will never be a moment, never. And maybe Jim has long, long ago given up his hope, but Sebastian is stupid. An utter spoiled prat who still has it in his head there might ever be a possibility of getting away from it. From _people._ Because the world bent around him for everything else but it would never leave him alone. Not him. Not Jim. Because men hate the sight of stars burning brighter than them.

At their feet is undeniable, irreversible death. And it is so... so bloody satisfying to look down and see that life snuffed out. For the rifle to smoke, the air to smell like gunpowder, the blood to stain the grass and there isn't a breath left inside of that body- just a corpse of something that could never threaten his light again. It’s near bliss that collides with his internal rage in some disturbing amalgamation of chemicals which almost makes him euphoric.

No running this time. Sebastian stands on cold ground with his eyes on pulp once called human, a pathetic excuse, breathing heavily as the adrenaline thrashes through his body. He can't tell if he's filled with life or shutting down.

\---

Jim's gaze is dark in this early morning light. The sun hasn't yet broken through the misty, low hanging clouds and therefore it doesn't glitter against the color and make it pop brightly in warm shades of brown and honey. It's just dark and dead right now. That gaze swivels up to Sebastian, and the chaos brewing there is so brilliant, a tumultuous storm that boils beneath clear blues, like the reckless winds of a hurricane over a churning ocean.

It's his Sebastian and he's killed again, killed for Jim. To keep him safe, to keep a worthless little boy from being snuffed out like a flame at the end of a match head being pinched between fingertips. Jim tiptoes daintily around the body and comes around to stand before his champion. A moment passes and then Jim stretches arms up to his warrior, fingers wriggling in demand to be lifted up into those arms. Bodies can wait. They've nowhere to be, nowhere to go but down deep into the earth. But the warrior needs praise from his king, and Jim will give it in spades. Because Sebastian has killed again and Jim sees absolutely no fault in it.

\---

Jim breaks his unwavering gaze by putting himself into the line of vision, standing as both barrier and catalyst to death. It's a breath’s time before those eyes focus on the smaller frame, staring into black and endless depths but the expression held on him is just an enigma. Jim is not screaming; he is not horrified, angry, he hardly seems to notice the desolation of life at all and Sebastian can't tell how that makes him feel because his thoughts have become momentarily numb from the overpowering flood that rages internally.

There is a demand there, an outstretch of arms which beckon for his attention and make his heart stutter in its rampant thunder because he is still human underneath the monster which has shown itself. His body is sluggish, signals snapping with delay from brain to limbs, telling him to respond while his face has yet to shift from the storm it reflects. But his elbow goes limp and fingers slip, letting the rifle hit the padded earth at their feet where it falls wayside of the body it has decorated. Two strong arms curl around a tiny waist and lift the smaller figure straight off the cold grass, careless of the wetness which meets his touch as he presses Jim against his bare torso, the better hand offering support. There's no sound and it's fine because Jim wouldn't hear it anyway.

\---

Jim allows himself to be lifted because he's asked for it, and his small body molds against Sebastian's upper torso, sitting on the strong arm like a perch and wrapping his arms around the blond's neck. He hears nothing but a slow buzz, but he feels the rapid heartbeat, the rush of adrenaline and the tensing of muscles that could easily snap him in half. But Jim fears nothing, least of all the killer who cradles him, his prize, his star.

Small hands covered in blood cup the back of Sebastian's neck, and the smaller boy pulls himself up and presses their lips together. It’s slow, because it’s something he wants to savor. He wants to taste the death that lingers in Sebastian's mouth, on his lips and tongue. Jim is damp and cold yet his body shifts against Sebastian's in unmistakable arousal, which is wrong, so wrong. But the older boy has killed for him again, without an ounce of hesitation and Jim has never witnessed anything so magnificent in his life.

\---

Maybe he should be fleeing from this. Horrified at what he's done, trying to talk his logical self out of madness in some desperate attempt to fix what is so obviously broken inside of him. This is not normal. This is not even a little ordinary. How does a teenager fall so naturally into this sudden will to not only take life but to destroy it? How does a _boy_ erase another human being? The average person would feel guilt and grief, regret that would cripple them damn near lifelong, but beneath the tempest of euphoric anger is a feeling of relief that he has only ever found in one place and it is pressed against him, cradled in his arms because he has become a shield and sword.

It is Jim which makes him realize with pristine lucidity that Sebastian is very far from normal; so far that he can scarcely find himself concerned with finding and becoming it. Revelation can be terrifying and devastating but as the tempest begins to settle, all that remains is satisfaction. He's killed a man. Not once, twice. He has killed twice and each outcome was exactly as he desired; Jim is left standing and the threat has been removed. Better men survive. A star still brightens the sky. 

Sebastian is still trapped in his head when lips touch his, but Jim coaxes him back into the bloody, clashing reality with the velvet of lips and wet little fingers on his neck. An oversized jumper is nothing much to cover and he isn't doing any favors for modesty in the way he holds Jim up and it is so very obvious that the younger boy is excited, an energy that electrocutes the tall blond into response. A delay that ends suddenly. His arm wants to crush Jim against him and he favors the slowness of their kiss because everything inside of him is chaos that comes to a cool clarity under Jim's direction. Neither of them care for what is wrong to the rest of the world because there's glory to find in what's right in theirs.

\---

Jim feasts on Sebastian's mouth, putting proper worship into the coil of a tongue or press of lips. There's a curling heat in the kiss, but it’s controlled; it isn't sloppy. When he breaks away, it’s only to breathe, only to speak words he can't hear himself above the metallic ringing.

"You're perfect. You're perfect and you're mine."

Jim chants this like a mantra as the cooling blood dries tacky upon his hands, and fingertips push into Sebastian's hair and tug. Jim could be ripped apart and he wouldn't fault Sebastian the pain, because the man is so beautiful when he kills. He destroys and Jim praises him for it. He'll always praise his champion for keeping him safe, for bending the laws of man and false gods to serve his one true king. Always.

\---

Jim's praise sinks into the veins, written in the code of his kiss where it fuses with the chemical trace to create memories that will last lifetimes. The blond is caught up in that smolder, hungry for the tribute and that fire laps at the edges of control when words lavish upon him, replacing his marrow to strengthen bones like steel. He exhales the breath he tried to take and it gets lost between them because he's pressing his lips to the corner of Jim's mouth just to steal the air which falls from it. There is no greater glory than a king's affection and Sebastian is greedy, desperate for it.

He shifts the smaller body in his arms, pulling him higher, squeezing him just close to painful, because they stand above death and Jim should shine high over triumphs in his name.

\---

Jim is so small, and Sebastian is crushing him, but he gives no complaint even when fragile bones creak throughout the tiny ribcage. Jim is not the sort to ever cry out in pain, even though he feels it. But what Sebastian offers isn't pain, it's devotion. Jim drags fingers down and smears Sebastian's cheeks red. He's still bleeding sluggishly from his cut hand, but it doesn't matter. If Jim could push his DNA into Sebastian, he would. He reels back slowly and stares at the blond with half lidded eyes, mouth swollen and red and eyes blown black.

"Burn it."

\---

He can feel the wetness of blood on his skin, warm for mere seconds and then immediately attacked by the cooler morning air. It doesn't bother him, though Jim's blood is not meant to be spilt. Perhaps another would worry over the wound but he's been given an order, a long look exchanged between cloudy blue and deep brown which speaks his obedience before any other indication is yet made.

Sebastian finally steps back from the corpse, putting small distance between them and the aftermath before he loosens his clutch and eases Jim back to his feet on clean grass. There is no debate on the matter, this man's fate has already been dictated and the star declares it is time to burn. He should be so honored.

\---

Jim's feet hit the ground and the earth is still cold beneath him. People will tell you space is cold and dark, but it's the planet that shifts beneath the Irish boy's feet that chills, it’s the world below that's dark. The sky is endless light, there is no death, only constant burning of balls of gas far greater than anything tethered to this dying rock of salt water and ash.

He offers no assistance in the matter of disposing of corpses. Jim doesn't get his hands dirty and yet he is already filthy with the stranger's blood. Jim orchestrates and commands, and his champion obeys, fulfilling his wishes with a fell stroke of hand or rifle. There is never a need again for the weight to land upon the soul of a star, nor does the tip of scales even matter, because Jim has been burning for so long. Hell holds no fear in his heart because there is no fire hot enough in Hell to scorch him.

\---

After a beat or two of heart still actively thundering, Sebastian lifts his gaze and moves around Jim, fetching up the rifle he loops over broad bare shoulder by the strap. He steps around the body and finds the fallen pistol, crouching down to pick it up where he regards the weapon with more interest than he does its former owner. If he had to guess, it was stolen. Firearms are not an easy thing to come by in London, nor can you waltz about flashing them around. He doesn't know much at all about smaller arms, but he's just found himself interested in a bit of study. It's a careful hand which resets the hammer because he's smart enough to figure that one out.

Sebastian stands and takes the pistol with him back to camp. He'll need tinder before the flint, so he back pockets the stone and tucks the firearm into the ammo pouch before setting out to find dry kindling.

\---

Jim is a little shadow, following Sebastian's steps and watching him as he treks through his tasks. Not because he believes the blond will foul anything up, but because he loves watching the older boy work. He is efficient and precise when under Jim's orders. His body seems to move on instinct, his mind working like clicking gears to fulfill the task put upon him.

He might have been excited, but Jim has a control that overrides the desires of his body and pushes the needs of his mind to the forefront. Padding along on little cat feet, Jim follows Sebastian back and forth through the camp, always well out of the larger boy's way with every step he takes.

\---

He's noticed his little shadow but it does not slow him down. Jim is agile, good at tiptoeing about, making hardly a sound unless desired, while Sebastian has dropped his pretense of quiet for efficiency and walks surefooted across the varied terrain. The older teen collects a bundle of dead wood and moss from the ever generous forest before returning to the camp for keep until it's needed. Next, it's a suitable patch of ground, because the grass will give resistance in its moisture and oppositely, it could catch fire to the rest of the meadow, drawing considerably more attention to the site.

Everything becomes mechanical, intricate thoughts shut down to make room for logical instruction based on a collage of unrelated knowledge he pulls from mental shelves like books. He finds a well enough spot and drops down on knees to clear a person sized pit with the aid of crude tools. Doesn't need to be deep, only isolate the fire on the soil, like tge put made for a bonfire. Then he's on his feet again, stalking back to the meadow where the corpse lays dead weight, flattening the tall foliage. The body will need to be moved and he opts for dragging rather than trying to haul it over a shoulder and make all the bigger mess of blood and brain matter where it need not be; on him. It was problematic enough for Jim to be coated, but they'll deal with that as well. The rains will take care of the trail through the meadow and clouds hang heavy in the sky as if to make that promise.

By now a chill has settled on his skin but he's in constant movement that keeps him internally warm, grabbing the corpse by one ankle with his good hand and dragging it towards the pit he's created under the canopy of trees. Once it's lying in its shallow grave, limbs carelessly bent and twisted to stay within the cut of earth, Sebastian finally pauses, scanning both mental and physical work before he speaks up for the first time this morning.

"We need an accelerant."

\---

As Sebastian speaks, it’s muffled and fuzzy in his ears but Jim can finally hear again. He nods and heads back to the tent, rooting around for the first aid kit from the rucksack. He tends to the cut in his hand, cleaning it and bandaging it, then grabs the bottle of isopropyl alcoho. He tugs on his pants and denims and trainers, because he’s half frozen from standing out there for so long without anything.

He returns to Sebastian and hands over the bottle of alcohol, looking up at him with a curious admiration. Jim is fascinated by the older boy, by his stoic steadfastness and as their fingers brush together over the bottle, bloody digits, Jim arches up and claims another kiss, giving each one like a reward so the blond keeps soldiering on.

\---

Sebastian tracks Jim back to the camp briefly to take up the collection of tinder awaiting purpose, returning to the side of the dead to lay out the dry wood that will fuel the flame. He's standing over the site, cheek smeared with blood and blond hair awry when Jim returns to his shadow, dressed now and offering a solution to their accelerant question. There isn't much in a single bottle, considering the whole of an adult male, but the pair of them are smart enough to figure out how to make it work, of that he was confident.

There's a quirk in the scarred corner of his mouth when Jim encourages his work with small affection and it's more effective than silly show-ups or shoulder pats for high marks at Eton. It gets him moving again, prepping the tinder, pouring frugal amounts of the alcohol in places which were more likely to resist spreading the flame, so far as he can guess. They'll need to tend it, put more kindle into the fire to keep it alive and spreading to the whole of the body; after all, this was no proper funeral pyre. But for a teenage boy who has just killed a man, it will serve its purpose of destruction, if not entirely thorough. He won't be hailing any search parties.

Sebastian kneels down within a foot or so of distance when all is done, match and flint in hands but before he sparks it, chin tilts and blue eyes look to Jim with a question; does he desire to strike the first match?

\---

Jim's eyes are tracking Sebastian, watching every move with intense concentration, memorizing, analyzing. What should be changed and adjusted, factoring the strength of winds and where the smoke will blow. As Sebastian turns back and offers the lucifer, Jim is quick to shake his head. He doesn't get his hands dirty, doesn't ever fell the striking blow. He brings revenge and destruction, but never leaves a print; a stamp that comes back to him.

He has no qualms about death, no problem orchestrating it like a conductor in a morbid symphony. This is Sebastian's kill and he must see it through, from start to finish, under Jim's watchful eye. But he does step forwards, wraps his arms around Sebastian's waist and presses to his back. They are together, and they are partners in this death, and any other that come after. Because there will be more.... many more.

\---

Sebastian's hands have become dangerous tools for Jim to puppet like a master. This strike of finality is a commitment the blond may not yet realize, but it will bear no burden on his heart when he does for he is just as twisted inside as the small star which guides him. The decision is not defined by force as it is choice and he gives his answer when the match is struck across flint and bursts into fiery life. With a resolute flick of his good wrist, it flutters into the display of death both flesh and wood where it falls amongst the tinder and takes little time to catch on. With good measure, he lights a second and tosses it into the fray, so they may watch the points of fire meet and intertwine not unlike their lives.

A set of fingers now free of burden touch upon an arm wrapped around him, blue reflecting a flutter of budding flame. The burn starts slow and then spreads fast; in no time at all it seems to scour the whole length of body and wood and crisp foliage, licking up into oxygenated air and eating away the alcohol. The smell is something odd, between firelit wood and meat just laid on a grill, the metallic scent of burning blood laced in with something horridly chemical.

\---

Jim can feel the atmosphere change as the fire flicks into life, can hear the crackle of tree branches and smell burning flesh. It's absolutely morbid and his heart and soul should feel heavy, but they don't. He was threatened and Sebastian protected him, and that's the very basis of love and human nature, is it not? But Jim won't dwell on horrid four letter words, because there is another that begins with an L, and it’s lies. That's what Jim understands, what he knows and

what he clings to. That, and Sebastian, who is solid and concrete, so he is not part of Jim's hallucinations. Not that he's had any of those in days time because the older boy insists on keeping him fed up.

Sebastian's skin is warm and welcoming, but Jim is smearing blood and bits of skull and brain on the toned back, and surely that's a sin. He pulls back, albeit reluctantly, and skims fingertips over the other boy's stomach before they dance completely away. He doesn't want to stand here and watch and smell the body burn, even if Sebastian does. He just wants to be clean again, but he can't achieve that in these woods. Can't achieve it ever really. But he trudges back to the creek to try again, this time keeping a wary eye out for any other intruders.

\---

Sebastian is transfixed on this sight until Jim moves, shifting weight from being pressed to him, little fingers he was warming fluttering away even when his own make an attempt to squeeze them and keep them close. Sebastian doesn't think it any terrible act to smear him in the mess he's created, but he should have been smarter with Jim in the line of blowback. That's the second time he's gotten blood on him. When the other boy moves to trek for the brook, something twists inside of him and pulls his muscles as if chained, because he does not stay put. Rather, he follows after the smaller body, if in slight delay, unwilling both sub and consciously to take another risk this soon. Sebastian's lips are dry without Jim's and when he slides a tongue across them, gracing his scar, he can taste the fire and smoke in the air. He craves a morning cigarette, but there is no desire loud enough to overthrow his instinct to stay close.

\---

Jim kneels down by the lazily rushing water and scoops it into his unbandaged hand, bringing it up to wash his face and the back of his neck clean from the bits of person that have flecked his countenance. There is blood in his hair and there is a flutter of panic at that in his chest because though he is poor and owns so little, Jim keeps himself meticulously clean. He does not want to look as destitute as he actually is, he refuses to live in filth and squalor. He desires a proper hot shower above all else at this moment, for he is not dipping cold body parts back into that river to be abused and violated again.

His other hand curls useless upon the rocks, and how ironic is it that he's crippled himself in a mirror of Sebastian. The more he is around the boy, the more his body seems to be broken by those around him. Surely that's an echo of some sign that this acquaintance is irreparably damaging to them both, when pain and suffering is beginning to outweigh everything else. Still, Jim is not broken yet, he's only scraped and bruised and the punishment has already been dealt swiftly for that. But this morning is a reminder that Jim will always be seen as weak. And Sebastian will not always be there with his gun, or his hands, or at all. And he must destroy such an image before it is branded to him for life.

\---

Sebastian is there in another moment, but he stays standing, scanning up and down the creek bed and its breach of forest on the other side until he's satisfied with the idea that anyone who might have been partner to the assailant was gone or didn't exist. Crouching down to the brook, space between he and Jim, he watches the other boy silently for a time or two longer. He's a mess and that is Sebastian's fault, and although Jim is often difficult to read, he see the hints of gloom seeping in. A miserable morning to a peaceful night, the blond sighs nasally. Irritation grinds his teeth together, reminding him that he wasn't there fast enough to be the barrier between Jim and trouble. Now they are both bandaged, claiming half useless hands.

Fingers are dipped into the water, bitten by the chill and wiped dry on denim before sticking in the good one and splashing himself in the face once he's washed off the dirt from his palm and fingertips. If he wasn't already awake from the adrenaline, that certainly startles the senses. Perhaps it kickstarts a different kind of sense back into his mind, but he wills complicated thought from him. He washes away the dry smear of blood on his cheek and then does his best to sling a cupped hand of water onto his shoulder and down his back. It's unpleasant and sends a shudder through him, but it is promptly ignored for a repeat.

"We should go back." To showers and warmth, a suggestion made in lowered voice, but he knows that home is no solace either.

\---

Jim sighs and sits back on the rocks. They are damp, and the wetness seeps through the loose denims to his thin thighs below. The sun has still barely risen and the light that morning casts upon the clearing is an eerie sort of pale blue, making it look like they've become trapped in a world of death and ghosts. Soon the sun will colour the sky in pinks and oranges as the world around them springs to life, but now, it is a world that belongs to the corpse crackling away behind them.

Jim shakes his head. Yes, returning and putting as much distance between him and the campsite is all he wants at the moment. But they must wait until the body is burned completely and then bury the remains in the ground. Leaving is not an option. Not if they wish to keep themselves safe for a bit longer. Because people knew they were camping and Sebastian has this as a favored spot. It will be easy to put the pieces together, for an overzealous forensics team budding with new ideas and technologies. They must cover their tracks, always. Nothing must come back to them. He stares at Sebastian, those dark eyes hollow, for there is no sunlight to give them colour.

"When we are finished."

\---

Getting rid of a body was not exactly something the blond had ever pondered over with much fervor. Maybe in passing, maybe in idle scrutiny of something he read or watched. But then, he hadn't especially thought about personally killing anyone either. No, that wasn't true. He had the everyman fantasy of maiming plenty of the populace but there was one in particular he considered for murder on more than one occasion. He also never thought about that in the context of getting away with it. Not really. There was some moral wall coded into his thoughts to keep them astray and yet… how easily it was broken. Like frost on the surface of the garden pond.

Regardless, this was something to be coached through and little did he yet realize what a teacher Jim could be about more than stars. Sebastian nods, their gazes locked in another silent exchange of conversation that needs no words. He isn't unnerved by the lightless depth of those eyes because there's infinite brilliance behind them and he must be the only one in the world who sees it. And that's just fine for him.

Sebastian licks his lips again and his craving is a little louder now, perhaps coming to the foreground in light that he saw no immediate danger in Jim's vicinity. Not that it meant terribly much, did it? He rises to his full height and in another tick, convinces himself to take his eyes off Jim. Turning back to the meadow, he heads to their campsite to claim a cigarette and reload the rifle before checking on the state of their pyre.

\---

Jim turns and watches Sebastian make off for the camp site. His attention wavers to the plumes of smoke, watching them coil in the sky. It could be mistaken for a bonfire and it's a holiday week, so the cover is easy enough. It could draw other campers though, and luckily it is early enough that other woodsmen would still likely be sleeping. He sighs and curls in on himself by the creek, hugging his knees to his chest. He's forced Sebastian to kill yet another man and it weighs heavier on him then if he'd killed them both himself.

Jim can still taste the salt and copper of a stranger's blood on his lips. This was supposed to be a chance for them to get away from the world, to discover each other and spend time growing… whatever this is. Ownership? They definitely own each other, for now they are bound in murder. Twice. Jim… Jim has killed before and he hasn't regretted it. It was necessary. Were these necessary? Not exactly. These were outbursts of rage. Sebastian is so angry inside. It manifests as destruction and soon it will turn itself on Jim. That is not what he fears but the fact that the violence is slowly becoming a more tangible presence in Sebastian is.

And yet, when the blond isn't at his side, he feels so empty and incomplete, and his body hollows out like a gaping chasm.

\--- 

At the campsite, Sebastian digs around in his bag to recall which of numerous pockets he has stuffed the pack of cigarettes, freeing one from the confines of it’s cardboard coffin to slip between his lips. There's a fold of cheap matches tucked into the plastic wrap and he uses one to light, tossing the expended lucifer into the burnt remains of last night's fire. Eyes flicker to the creek, but Jim is far away at the moment and all he really can see is the ball of fabric and limbs curled up by the water.

Two fingers pluck up the fag and he exhales a breath of smoke into the cold air but it's not the satisfaction he really wants. Eyes dart across the meadow again, if only for a second. Reloading a rifle is a bit of an easier task when you aren't scrambling to do it and this is a weakness he needs to amend, another study added to the list. When cooled metal and wood stock are in his hands again, good fingers slide along the barrel in a fondling gesture, catching a smudge of blood on the muzzle where it was pressed to the back of a skull which was now pierced and fragmented and burning.

Sebastian did this. There's a smear of blood on his fingertips and he did this. In hindsight he asks himself why he got so close; why not aim from afar? Why not take him down like a buck? That’s all a man is... a large animal. A beast waiting to be struck down, even the young ones are dangerous creatures. The bloody pulp of a face crosses his thoughts.

Right behind the eyes. It would have been cleaner. The thought of Jim flickers in his mind, lips against his and Sebastian's fingers twitch on the metal they curl around. With a telling click of parts, he pops the expended shell and watches it hit the ground, breathing around the cigarette balanced between his lips. After a moment, he and the rifle crouch down and his ill hand reaches to grassy dirt to pick it up, turning it in his fingers thoughtfully.

Sebastian is not a prey animal. He is a predator with claws and fangs and like a cub, he's learning how to use them. The shell is slipped into his trouser pocket and he goes about loading another bullet into the chamber.

Even predators have things they desire to protect.


	16. To Smoulder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bleed then burn.
> 
> The story or Moriarty and Moran, from the very beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This will be updated every Saturday!**
> 
> We must thank our brilliant [Hippano](http://hippano.tumblr.com/) for all her artwork and beta.  
> And many thanks go out to our newest editor [Bizarreserenity](http://bizarreserenity.tumblr.com/).  
> And of course, our little Lord! [Pieofthelord](http://pieofthelord.tumblr.com/) for being our French translator! <3

Jim’s stomach rumbles and he realizes he is hungry. More like a protest from his body; it has grown accustomed to eating more and demands this process to be kept up. A bandaged hand curls around his midsection and he attempts to shush it with a soothing rub. Eating seems like a very ill advised idea while he is so filthy. He is already squirming at the sensation of being unclean and slipping food into his mouth while like this is distressing to his mind, even if his stomach doesn't seem to care.

He pushes up onto his legs with a shaky wobble and heads back towards camp. The sun is coming up and he'd rather have the warmth of the fire than the chilled breeze off the river. Camping had left the taste of ashes and blood in his mouth and it is certain that he will not desire to attempt it again in any foreseeable future.

He trudges over to Sebastian's side where the blond is fiddling with his new toy, cradling it like it has a decent chance of replacing Jim as his current favorite. The brunet leans up on the tips of his trainers and plucks the cigarette from Sebastian's mouth, jamming it between his own lips and taking a hurried puff that fills his lungs with cloying smoke and burns all the way down. He coughs once, twice, and then is spewing out the smoke from his mouth and nostrils like a dragon. He is more careful when he takes the second drag, whole body twitching as the nicotine floods into an already constantly hyperactive system, seeping into virgin pores and starting them on their way to decay.

\---

Jim seems to appear out of nowhere but it's a failure on Sebastian's part not to have noticed him moving from the brook. Immediately his gaze is drawn, peering down as the cigarette is snatched from his mouth, expecting the younger boy to toss it considering that's what most people did when they had the audacity to take from him like that. Hadn't happened in a while, people just assume he’s eighteen already. Brows raise and he watches intently as the brunet takes a drag, breathing in smoke that scratches at his throat and lungs. He remembers that sensation. Instead of rejecting it for the initial burn that forces him to cough, he nurses another hit and it's not that Sebastian is impressed, but he's surprised. The little smile might say so.

"Never guessed you for a smoker." He's half amused by it, leaning down momentarily to rest the rifle against his half deflated bag of camping supplies. He pulls a thermal out of the main space before straightening, unrolling it with a little shake of his wrist and wrestling it on, his good hand giving the hem a tug down his torso. A barrier at last.

\---

"You've never been able to guess a damn thing about me," Jim snaps back, rubbing warmth into his arm with his unoccupied hand. It's not spoken with malicious intent, it’s simply factual. Jim's gaze is far away as he takes his final drag, walls slowly sliding into place ever since that gun had pushed into his head, finally completing their descent. Sebastian is done with his dressing and Jim passes the fag back and wanders off to the smoking corpse.

The fire is dying down now, smoldering really. Shoving the rubber bottom of his trainer against the remnants of shattered skull that cannot hold its fragments together without flesh, boiled, liquid brains seep out into the burial pit. The fire hasn't burned hot enough to really destroy the body, but he's unidentifiable by modern methods of forensics. Finding the flat rock Sebastian had used to dig, he starts to shovel earth back over the corpse. He was quiet and inactive before but now he just wants to get out of this place, wants to be somewhere else entirely, but the world keeps dragging him back to the same path.

\---

Jim's voice bites him and it's a rock bashed into the windshield of his abnormal sense of contentment. He stares after the distance of Jim's gaze and watches lips press around the cigarette, smoke exhaled as easily as the happiness that dared, almost, settle between them the night before. He should have known. It was a pattern forming and he was foolish enough to forget about it even after being violently woken to the real world. Sugar dissolves best with heat, after all, and Jim is all fire. Maybe it wasn't malicious but it was certainly a reminder.

He follows Jim's movement with his eyes, bringing the returned cigarette to his lips and uttering under his smoky breath. "Haven't I?"

Sebastian sticks the white cylinder between his lips another time, what little is left, and allows it to burn away as he moves over to their tent and unburries his boots from the cold fabric reminder of momentary peace. Walking through the forest is not exactly pleasant on bare feet, so now it's earth and twig crunching under rubber and leather as he stalks over to the dying fire where Jim is at work pushing soil on the charred remains. The last of his cigarette is tossed into the remaining smolder before it gets snuffed out by soil. He doesn't bother with words or questions, only drops down opposite end to quicken the process with his one good hand.

\---

Jim is dirty all over again but does it even matter? He's been filthy with a taint for years, soil and soot is nothing by comparison. His bandage is useless at keeping out the packed earth and it's likely to get infected from such poor care of a body that had little to no immunity from malnutrition. Sebastian won't let him keel over from something that is so easily fixed with an injection and a handful of pills though, so it's of little concern to him now.

He's slept the night through for once but it's wasted because it's barely morning and he's exhausted all over again. He pants and slides down onto his knees, lungs burning from exertion he just isn't used to. He stares at the sun painted clouds that are stealing away his night sky with pinks and purples, and Jim is so tired. But he still can't rest. Not for a long while. He won't abandon everything to Sebastian, even if he'd really just like to. Jim is lazy, yes, but this is not the time for it.

\---

He must be twice Jim's size in most ways. A tan, blond, blue eyed bulk of contrast. Height, strength and endurance are all his advantage; he's even eternally warm to Jim's endless chill. It takes a lot to exhaust a boy who has played rugby for years, day in and day out practices, physically active and well nurtured for it with food and rest. The worst thing he seems to do is smoke cigarettes and he hasn't been doing it long enough to harm his lungs terribly much. A year or so. So when Jim is panting, Sebastian's heart is hardly cantering in his chest. He's already down on the ground with his denims to the dirt, looking up when he catches movement from the corner of his eye.

It doesn't take a genius to understand, at least the surface wear of an ill-equipped frame. The boy is covered in dirt, the jumper is stained with death and breath falls out of those lips with weight, practically glistening with sweat and if it were any warmer in London at this hour, he would have been speckled freely. A brow furrows.

"Jim." He hasn't said his name since it had laced itself in breathless moans, and it makes Sebastian pause to realize he isn't certain what he even wants to say. That he _can_ say.

"Tell me what to do to finish this."

\---

Physical activity is not something Jim cares for, unless there is some amazing gain that outweighs the exertion. Like sex. Sex is good, though it's the furthest thing from his mind now. Which is strange, since he'd been so excited earlier. But when reality sank in, it flipped his wants and emotions around like a rolling dice.

At the sound of his name, he turns, staring at the blond who uttered the syllable to draw its owner's attention. His heaving chest shudders as he finds his breath.

"It...it needs something over the top. Logs...stones...something to keep animals from digging it up."

He closes his eyes and drags another breath into his chest, then pushes up to wander back towards the forest and begin looking for just that.

\---

He isn't sure how it makes him feel, seeing Jim ragged, exerted. It sparks a carnal memory that remains disjointed like a word resting on the tip of his tongue, just out of reach. Jim is clever and he gives Sebastian the direction that turns his gears, pushes him to try and consider every angle so that he may be sufficient in a way satisfying to his need for perfection, as well as Jim's expectations. He doesn't quite realize how starved he is for someone to please, when the patriarch long ago lost respect enough to rule. The one true king has taken the throne.

Sebastian gets to his feet with minimal effort, hand covered in soil, dirt under his nails and ground into his denim knees but it concerns him none. He stares after Jim as he moves and words are stuck in his throat; he wants to tell him to leave it. Allow him to take care of the mess he's made, leave the burden to his shoulders. But he can't. In this they are together, because even though Sebastian is the destructive hand, Jim does not run away. He stays by his side and directs him and it's all bloody fucked but they are together. There are so many things they need to talk about and neither of them say a word. The blond simply turns and obliges Jim's wisdom to find cover in the forest to hide what is charred and buried. Maybe there will be a time for discussions, but now isn't it.

\---

Jim finds several large, dead branches and drags them one by one to the burn site. His hands and fingers are covered in blisters and splinters by the end of it, but still he works, rolling stones now from the fire pit to help fill in the gaps. His heart pounds like a furious magpie trapped in a cage, beating its wings against the gilded bars. But still there are things to pack and a trail to trek before he can rest. Jim is nothing if not determined, so he soldiers on, not a word huffed to Sebastian as he conserves what bit of breath he doesn't pant out of his lungs.

Finally he returns to the tent and stuffs supplies into his packs, along with the heavy jacket because it's cold but he is so overheated he doesn't need it. Sweat streams down his body and he feels disgusting, clothing sticking to his limbs even though it’s overlarge. He shoulders the pack and steps out of the tent, surveying the crime scene. It's slapdash at best. But it will do.

\---

Sebastian helps carry back and forth to pack evidence and death beneath the soil with a protective barrier. The effort is half of what Jim has to put into it but he's heaving a bit harder for breath by the end nevertheless. Next on the agenda becomes taking down the tent and once Jim has fetched his things and the bedroll has been curled and tied, he begins to deconstruct the small house that served them well for a night. It's one hand and weak fingers yet again but pulling it apart is faster than building it up.

It's warming up a bit by now, sun stretching out on the sky steadily and even Sebastian has a soft sheen on tan skin by the time their camp has been packed. Nothing left but charred wood and the burial sight of their crime; he shifts the rifle, now resting looped on one shoulder only, his pack strapped to his back and carrying much of the weight. It will be another hour or so to get back to the entrance they came from and there, he can make a call from the payphone. He sincerely doubts Jim wants an extra four hours tacked on to his walk back and frankly, neither does he. Not today.

He turns to Jim and it's a silent question in his expression as to their next move.

\---

Jim wants to be gone. Their work is done to a bare minimum of satisfaction, and nature will finish the rest for them. Sebastian may sport a tan now, but Jim's pale Irish skin is burnt a shade of pink that looks like he's continuously blushing. Not that Jim is one to blush at all, so the effect is rather strange to behold. His sharp mind has completely memorized the path they took through the forest to get here, and he marches it, pushing his body further and further. He won't break though. Not from this, not from anything.

He remains silent the entire walk because he isn't prompted to speak. He sinks into his own mind, letting his body run on autopilot. The trek finally ends once they've reached the phone booth and Jim drops down beside the pole to rest a bit now and catch his breath. He tugs his knees to his chest and pants into them, face pressed into the muddy denim as his chest heaves. At least camping is a good excuse to come home dirty and there is enough mud that it obscures the rusty coloured, dried blood.

\---

The blond makes no effort to spark conversation but there's no great descent into his thoughts because he's doing well to stay away from them. It's like being in school, like practices and workouts, his body is in motion and his mind shuts down into more simplistic stages. He occupies mental space with observations about the land, as if to hone skills otherwise wasted because he lives in a collection of brick cages.

When they arrive at the payphone, it's a short ten-word conversation to send Henry on his way out the door. Sebastian glances down at Jim where he's sunk towards the earth and all the things he was trying to keep out flood right back into his forward consciousness. He moves to the brunet's side and lowers down next to him to wait out the twenty minutes it will take for Henry to arrive. Though his eyes linger on Jim, he doesn't insult him with stupid questions about his state, neither physical nor mental. The morning has unraveled itself around them and shattered illusions, leaving Sebastian feeling a bit hollow. What he wants feels like a neverending chase and yet here they are still in a barely spoken bond: ownership and death.

Resting the useless arm on his bending knee, Sebastian glances over the chart of Orion drawn across the white plaster, tracing it with a ghost of touch because he doesn't dare wipe the dirt from his fingers on the marks Jim has made. After a few minutes, his hand falls away and lands somewhere just next to the young Irishman where it inches closer until it finds the hem of a ruined, oversized jumper, pinching the fabric as if just reminding the other boy that he's there.

\---

As the fingers close around the hem of his borrowed jumper and tug at the fabric, Jim snaps his head up and wearily looks to the hand that curls over the material. He stares at it as if it's a spider and old urges to smack it away boil up within him. He's retreated back to a state before Sebastian had broken through his walls and the first reaction to everything is anger, hatred. Anything to distance himself from the outside stimulus that has threatened. But another voice in his head tells him this is Sebastian, this is affection and this is something being given to him as a gift. The constant presence of the older boy at his side is because he cares, even though that word makes him scoff and something painful sticks in his throat.

Torn, blistered fingers move and gently stroke over the back of Sebastian's hand, petting the deep tan as if it was paint he could smear beneath his fingers. He shifts, turning towards the blond as he unfolds his body and scoots a bit closer, so the line of their shoulder to hip is pressed together like a seam, sewing it together.

"You saved me." He murmurs, soft and reverent. It's true but Jim is pushing emphasis into it, because Sebastian needs it. It's evident from the felled expression on his face. "You've saved us. You're amazing."

The words fall from his lips and soon he's pushing up and into Sebastian's lap, curling his arms around his neck and holding him in a frail embrace. And yes, it's manipulative, but it’s true, every bit of it.

\---

Sebastian could have been content to sit there with fabric pressed between his dirty fingers and the touch on his hand is comforting; it tells him that his star is still in the sky. These are the first words out of Jim's mouth in well over an hour of time and although silence is no stranger to them, the line of physical communication had begun to fray underneath the weight of so much unsaid; it was all he could do, reaching out to find the connection he longed for.

He studies the expression on Jim's face as he slides closer and speaks quietly and maybe he isn't quite gullible enough to think that Jim was sitting there in contemplation of this but it still stuns him, even for a moment. He almost looks confused, brows furrowing under blond strands awry against his forehead as the other body takes over his lap and arms curve around him, stealing the air out of his lungs. He just...

He will never, ever admit to how Jim anchors him because the moment you say such things aloud, they are gone. It's nonsensical and dangerous, but he breathes in stardust like borrowed oxygen and he tries not to clutch Jim to his chest when his arms finally respond to the closeness but he has no idea how badly he needed to hear that. They are both a dirtied mess of soil and sweat and blood but he still turns his face into Jim's jawline and exhales against his neck because Jim says he's magnificent and perfect and amazing and Sebastian belongs to him.

\---

Jim is too exhausted for much more than this but it seems to be enough for Sebastian, whose arms go around him and whose face slides along his jaw. His weight settles against the older boy's chest and he can feel the bond between them strengthen once more as if his words were sewing it back together from where it had frayed. He gives a soft sound, somewhere between a sigh and a mew as he gets comfortable. It’s an easy way to relay affection without him having to exert much actual effort.Jim closes his eyes and wets his dry and cracking lips.

"My champion." He murmurs, sewing another thread tight, knotting it off before he snaps it with his teeth.

\---

Another utterance makes him close his eyes as well, the corner of his mouth twitching, hiding the smallest of smiles between skin, fabric and possession. His arms loosen, always to accommodate, and he's lulled into a sense of security just feeling the rise and fall in Jim's torso as he breathes. At least here, there's no voice in the back of his head trying to argue over lack of morality and loss of control. Jim is alive and that is not a mistake. Not the first time and not the second.

He's content to sit just like that for as long as it takes for the car to arrive. He hears the sound of motor and metal cutting through air well enough before he lifts his blond head to find it with his gaze, moving only enough to let his arms loosen from their curl around Jim.

\---

Jim is ever observant but Sebastian hasn't been deafened today and his hearing is generally better beyond that as well. He hears the car's approach well before Jim does and the blond shifts, so does Jim, lifting his head. He's bleary and feels worse than any beatings he's suffered in his life thus far, and maybe that's because he's fucking sunburnt on top of it and that’s the most miserable feeling in the world. The clouds filter the sun, rather than hinder it, so the strongest rays get through to eat up epidermis and leave it red and angry as the blood tries to heal it. He craves a shower, not just to be clean, but because he needs to cool down his skin.

The car is such a relief to see. He extracts himself from Sebastian and stands, toeing at the dirt with faded trainers as he waits for its approach. As the sleek car pulls up, he peels off his pack and hands it over to Sebastian to put away in the boot. He doesn't hesitate to climb into the back seat, stretching his way over the soft, buttery leather. When Sebastian rejoins him, he only moves enough to let the other boy sit, then claims his thigh as a pillow, closing his eyes and demanding in a small voice for the vehicle's air conditioning to be turned on.

\---

Once Jim is up on his feet, Sebastian joins him at his side, shifting the gun he pulls it onto his shoulder another time. The car idles and Sebastian holds the door open for Jim to climb in, taking their things to the boot where he drops them inside, taking care only with the weapon which has served him well.

Sliding into the back seat, he runs his good hand through blond to unstick it from his dappled wet forehead, lowering it down to rest on Jim's arm as the boy settles against his thigh. He passes the short order to Henry, who turns the air on cold blast before they leave the forest behind and head back to the row of grand houses all hiding behind their iron fences. It's a twenty minute ride that seems to go quickly and Sebastian's eyes linger outside the window for much of it.

\---

Sebastian is silent, therefore so is Jim. It isn't as if they can have much conversation in front of Henry anyways, as Jim has silently vetoed speaking around others in the household. Jim doesn't share much at all and when he does, it’s reserved for Sebastian and Sebastian alone. He lays upon Sebastian's thigh and feels the weight of the older boy's hand on his arm...it’s not a bother because the long sleeved jumper prevented his limbs from burning at least. It’s just the back of his neck and shoulders and his nose and cheeks.

Eventually it will fade, a day at most.

His fingers trace and tug at the denim, and eventually their fingers intertwine and Jim's clutch is too tight to break. He is _clinging._

\---

Jim has claimed his fingers in a grip that tightens like a vice and this shifts his gaze from the window to the brunet. He doesn't resist, squeezing firm in response to their tangle. The opposite hand drifts closer to delve into salty, damp strands of hair, sifting soft and slow and he's alright with clutching and clinging because his bones can take it and his spirit welcomes it. He's possessive of the things Jim gifts to him, words and self alike, so very unwilling to share them and perfectly content not to say a word. Henry is a smart enough man not to pry and ask questions, unlike Nigel, who will badger them given the chance. Sebastian will serve as a barrier between Jim and the rest of the world, no matter if it's threat or just nuisance.

If you asked him why, he would have no answer, but as he counts the landmark houses and they sidle past the iron gates of the Moran estate, Sebastian leans down over Jim to touch his lips to his temple where the sun has not afflicted him. He won’t let go until Jim does, even though the car pulls to a gentle stop at the steps.

\---

Jim hums beneath the kiss; accepts it, relishes it. He may not show it always, may not crave it, but he appreciates it and on a base, secret level, covets each and every one. But the possibility of a shower is looming, so Jim draws himself up, even if he'd rather rest beneath Sebastian's more gentle attentions. He releases the older boy's hand because he cannot shift out of the car while maintaining a hold on Sebastian, not without hindering them both, because had he really wished for it, then Sebastian would make it so.

He doesn't speak to the staff, he moves past them and heads into the house as if he owns it. And by all rights, he does, for he owns Sebastian and therefore owns his home. He trudges upstairs but he lingers, waiting for Sebastian to join him once he's retrieved his precious rifle. He looks at his reflection in disgust, the dirt and the damaged skin. It's revolting and the boy that looks back at him is a horrendous mess. Jim finally reflects what he is inside and he hates seeing it with his own eyes.

\---

He's out of the car with a short word of thanks to Henry, fetching their things before he takes to the house because he won't be leaving their procured handgun to be found by any other. Once in the door, he can see that Nigel has been lingering in the foyer waiting, ignored by Jim but pressing for Sebastian to give him time of day. The blond shrugs off his pointless questions before they can begin, cutting him short with an order to be delivered to the kitchen; He's starved and has no room for fuss, already at the top of the steps by the time the housemaster relents to obedience.

Upstairs, he drops the bags in the bedroom which is locked in their wake, setting the rifle on the desk, already in the process of peeling the thermal over his head when he halts to look at Jim; but he doesn't see what the other boy does. He sees the mess he's made offending the small star's brilliance and it's a sinful thing for which he will pay penance.

\---

Jim turns and tilts his head back to look at Sebastian, who is bronzed and golden, and even through the dirt, is still gorgeous. Jim is a fleck, a marr upon that brilliance but he cares little for what's proper. He steps over and takes Sebastian's hand once more. Together they move towards the shower, where Jim turns on the taps to a cool stream and then strips down, throwing the ruined clothing in the bin. He reaches out and unfastens Sebastian's denims and pushes down both jeans and pants, till both of them are bare save for the film of blood and dirt.

And Jim pulls Sebastian in with him to the stream of water, so that filth can be rinsed away, along with their sins down the drain. Leaving them clean and fresh to commit the next one.

\---

Sebastian isn't helpless, of course not, but around Jim he falls into a pattern; watching and waiting, obeying his silent orders, accommodating his movements. It's not expected but it's neither a shock that Jim does not intend for them to go about separating just now. He could have waited until the younger boy was finished but Sebastian is not about to argue.

He flinches when the cold stream hits him, because his body is warmer naturally and it's a shock both startling and soothing to his senses. He stands on the edge of the stream, letting Jim take the strength of it, cupping a handful he splashes his face with and sighing as if it were truly washing burdens away. His hands are calloused but they are gentle when they touch Jim, evading the pink patches of irritated skin amongst the bruising marks that have begun to soften, chasing the flow of water with his fingertips as it slides along pale skin and banishes impurity from radiance.

\---

Beneath the stream, the cool water soothes his burnt skin and washes away flaking blood, dirt, sweat and whatever else he'd accumulated from their trek in the woods. Pale porcelain is revealed yet again, tinged with fading shadows of bruises that whisper across his abdomen, and fresher ones that ring his neck and shoulders beneath the red flush left by the sun. He is collecting wounds as easily as Sebastian does and he wonders if the pair of them will soon become a canvas of them.

At the skim of fingers, Jim opens his eyes beneath the stream, watching Sebastian move as if through a shutter, while the water streams down and half obscures his vision. The touch is gentle, light as if he is something fragile. And Sebastian will always see him as this, as something to protect, and it’s as maddening as it is desirable.

Small hands stretch up to cup the sides of Sebastian's face, feeling the stubble that had grown in overnight. It rasps under delicate fingers that skim piano keys and map out charts of the heaven, yet now they are damaged with blisters and splinters that must be plucked out. Perhaps they will never be soft again and Sebastian will yearn for that milky touch forevermore.

But for now, there is no yearning, because Jim is right here, in his grasp and it's Sebastian's own brutal justice that makes it so.

\---

Everything seems to be accompanied by a mild twinge of frustration when you've only one hand to use properly. Here it is, bodies bare and quickly becoming drenched, offenses washing away to make the marks he's left on Jim's skin stand out on fine ivory, and Sebastian is a teenage boy if not a man. So of course the sight is appealing. But one hand stays outstretched to the glass door where it sits useless. Getting a cast wet is practically forbidden and the most he's done is dampen the fringe of gauze lining while washing his fingers. He takes enough risks with it already.

He doesn't care that the touch is roughened by the abuse they've suffered, he still leans into the brush of Jim's hands, tilting cheek and jaw into the palm that frames his face. The good set stops over the bruise that someone else made, the one he desires to erase just like he did its maker; his thumb slides over wetness that streams across it but the anger doesn't boil up the way it did before. He's relaxing at last because Jim seems calm, as far as his outward illusions go, and so his good hand slips down to its favorite place on slender hip. He inclines forward and water catches blond that mingles with slick wet black as he touches their foreheads together, knuckling the glass door when he takes a deep breath.

\---

Sebastian isn't shy about his touches and advances, per se, but there is still always that hesitation. Waiting for Jim to make the first move, to tip their explorations of timid touches and stunted caresses over the line into territory that is more carnal in nature. It's an eternal struggle, on one hand Jim appreciates the control he's granted in a situation which Sebastian could easily usurp the claim... but on the other, Jim just wants someone strong enough to take it from him and do just that, force him just to take what is given.

Their foreheads touch and it's a request for more that Jim grants. He tilts up and seals their mouths together and this time the kiss isn't tainted with blood and smoke, so he can taste the man beneath. He who is his, has promised forever in a show of the naivety of youth. Forever is not something that can ever be promised. Even stars eventually burn out. But when they do, they explode and take everything around with them.

\---

There's no hurry, although the idea of safety has been rattled and even in here, a little glass box which offers to soothe them, he knows they aren't really _safe_. But there's no rush, not in their kiss and not in their touch and he's fine with that just as much as he is when heat and passion take hold. It's not physical exhaustion he feels, though his stomach is empty and his body begs to be recharged; he can only imagine Jim feels all the more so. But he's mentally tired, fighting off so much until his success wanes into failure. That's a harder battle for him and he seeks to shut it down by losing his thoughts to perceptions, even minute. Soft lips, battered fingertips, smooth skin chilled under cold water, delicate bones he could crack, protruding against the porcelain.

Sebastian's arm does something terribly familiar again, in the way it flattens palm and snakes around the slender spine to rest low, but it's his own body that moves closer, rather than pulling. Water manages to catch his shoulders, down his back and it's cold enough on hot skin to send a little shock up his vertebrae, but even when he shudders, his lips still press upon Jim's as if he's more important. Maybe he can't promise forever but he still has time and self to give. He will selfishly covet Jim no matter the threat of burn, as if history was not enough to prove he would gladly allow Jim to destroy him if it meant he would stay.

\---

Yes, Jim is tired. Exhausted really. Even though they are pressed up naked against each other and adrenaline is still a low simmering presence, he knows this isn't the time for anything more than flickers of affection. Jim has plans to praise his warrior, and they will come later. For now, they need to unwind and recuperate from this morning's horrors.

Slowly he pulls back from the kiss, mouthing his way across Sebastian's jaw, fingers still curled up over cheekbones and touching strands of wet hair. He doesn't move out of the older boy's embrace, but he does give a soft tap to his cheek. _Later_. There will be time for intimacy that involves bodies, but first they must let those bodies heal.

He moves for the soaps and washes the older boy clean better than just water can. Hands move over muscles and tendons, dragging suds across tanned skin until there is no hint of soil or spoil.

He's quicker to wash himself off, not taking the time to worship as he had with Sebastian, and soon they're both clean. Jim turns off the tap and slips out to retrieve the towels, handing one to Sebastian and watching with a sigh as that body is once again covered up. He turns away and drapes his own towel over narrow shoulders, then moves to the medicine cupboard above the sink to find a pair of tweezers and pluck out the splinters from the water softened skin of his fingers.

\---

That little tap to his cheek makes Sebastian smile and from this moment, the expression does not wear thin from his scarred lips. It's certainly no bother to have another set of hands where he has only one and it amuses him quietly to watch the younger boy lather his skin, trying to figure out what goes on in his clever head. Sometimes, the way Jim looks at him...

But it's not the time, that is his reminder. He won't step out of the shower until he's run a bit of soap through his blond hair but it's all done when they emerge from the glass doors and he towels off with his good hand, one limb at a time. He finds it somehow appealing that Jim moves about his space as if he belongs there, true to the idea that what is Sebastian's is therefore his.

Tucking the towel tight around his waist, he moves to Jim's side and reaches out to take his wrist- "Let me?"

And it is a question of both permission and trust, lifting the limb a bit higher to inspect those small, spidery fingers. The hand of less value reaches for Jim's opposite and extends his scrutiny over fingers and palms, because the wound he suffered on the rock bed needs to be tended just as well, even if Jim should trust only himself to do it.

\---

Jim considers. Sebastian's eyes are certainly sharper than his and Jim is hindered by the wound in his palm, unable to properly perform such a delicate procedure. He acquiesces and hands over the tweezers, hopping up onto the counter with the towel still spread around him like a cape. He offers his hands for scrutiny, sighing softly at the horrible inconvenience of needing to play patient rather than curling in the corner to lick his wounds himself.

As jagged bits of plant matter are pulled from his fingertips, he flinches just barely. It stings, but each time it does so, relief comes flooding in quickly afterwards. He doesn't jerk away or howl out, but dutifully takes the healing punishment with little more than a bit of a scowl; but that's such a default expression, it really doesn't matter too much.

\---

Sebastian does have sharp eyes and even with one hand busted, they are steady. Tweezers in his primary, he uses the other to stabilize and begins the mock surgical procedure with full concentration. He doesn't baby Jim in trying to be terribly delicate about it, neither is he vicious, just efficient. He's gotten enough splinters in his lifetime to be very familiar with getting them out, by now his hands are tough enough they barely have a chance to wiggle their way under the skin. Jim is different but not so to be considered weak and helpless. Sebastian doesn't know his history in its fullest, not yet (if ever) but he doesn't need to haphazardly guess how familiar Jim is with different kinds of pain. He's seen the bruises and this has only been weeks of his lifetime.

When he's finished, he sets the tool aside on the countertop, reaching to finger open a drawer where he finds the antiseptic and turns Jim's abused hand palm up to dab it with the cream once he's satisfied it's actually cleaned out of the arrangement of things that could have gotten in. It shouldn't take long to heal, but then, Sebastian has no idea just how compromised Jim's neglected system is; it will have to work harder than his own does to fight off infection. He wraps Jim's hand lightly, so it is still flexible, because there's no sense in both of them having an unusable appendage.

\---

Showering has certainly improved how he feels, he's cooled down finally, which is ridiculous because Jim is always cold to begin with. His hands feel better once the splinters are plucked free, and ever better as Sebastian rubs the cream into his sore wound and begins to wrap it. It’s not delicate, Sebastian isn't delicate by any means, he can't be, it's not in his nature. But he is gentle. He is always gentle with Jim, and how can the boy ever have thought that was something he'd want, something he'd crave? Even when he's pressing bruises into skin with mouth and fingers, he does in it such a careful way. Jim is so thankful to have someone like this as his first lover, though in time, he's sure that gentleness will fade away once they become more familiar with each other...if they ever do.

He flexes his wrapped hand, testing the give. The ache is there, but it's dulled now. He reaches out for Sebastian's face and cradles it in his hands, bringing the boy closer so he can press a kiss to the scar he's painted permanently above his lip.

"Thank you, Sebastian." He drawls softly, then seals the words with a kiss placed properly on the blond's mouth. Jim isn't exactly affectionate, but this occasion calls for it and he is willing to give when it's needed; to give when he must wrap the blond tight around his little finger whenever he's in danger of unraveling. So he can be sweet and soft because they've killed a man yet again and it hasn't even been a week. And Jim can't lose what he's grown to depend on.

\---

Sebastian is satisfied with that, seeing Jim flex is hand with fair range. Just as well, he was going to move out of the way when hands reach out to him, pausing, drawn so very easily into the beckoning touch as if Jim is a powerful magnet he can't fight. Blue goes half lidded as lips bless the little scar they had a part in making. It's the very first time Jim has ever, ever said thank you out loud and even though Sebastian has no need of its verbal communication, it's still appreciated- and surprising.

Sebastian sets his good hand down on the counter by Jim's thigh and leans into the contact of their mouths because he's going to get away with it for as long as he can before they're off to otherwise nourish their bodies- and that is under an assumption that Jim will eat whatever is prepared. Reward wasn't his goal but he might as well have been a puppy Jim was teaching tricks to because he certainly responds to the affection. Wrapped around his finger is a good way to put it and before kiss' end, he'll nip Jim's bottom lip at least once.

\---

He hums at the soft pinch of skin between teeth, then Sebastian is pulling back and away. Jim slides down off the counter and once again he's towered over. He leaves his cape coiled damp on the floor because Sebastian has servants to do things like pick up towels and mess that Jim leaves in his wake. He wanders towards the older boy's closet and sorts through this and finally settles not on his smaller hand me downs, but a regular t-shirt that fits Sebastian now. It swims on his small frame, reaching mid thigh, the collar hanging off a shoulder. The cotton is soft and comfortable, and thats what he wants now.

He shuffles to a bed that's been made nice and neat and climbs onto the mattress, exhausted both in body and in mind. Sebastian is welcome to eat, but the thought of interacting with anyone else in the house confines him to the room over any desire of food. He grabs a pillow and hugs it to his chest, not even bothering with the covers as he hikes a knee up at a bend. A kip will be a welcome reprieve after this morning. And his body is asking for it, which means he needs it.

\---

Sebastian lets Jim do his rifling in the wardrobe while he shuffles about the washroom a while more. It isn't a maid who picks up Jim's towel, it's him, tossing it into the hamper with the rest of the clothes that hadn't quite made it that far when they were shed. He rubs at blond, fine towel absorbing water out of his hair and it's starting to need a trim but he can't be buggered to fuss with it. He barely slides a hand through it, only enough to brush it off his forehead before he goes on a search for something to put on his body, which by now has burned off the cool temperature and return to its eternal warmth.

The usual; white shirt and trousers and with no plans to leave the estate, it's loose sleepers he emerges with. By this time Jim has taken up residence on his bed and as Sebastian might have guessed, it meant he wasn't going down to eat. Before he leaves the room, the older boy steps over to the window and gives a tug on the thicker curtain, cutting off the light which had been reaching towards the sizable bed. He pulls the other one as well on his way around, and a glance outside tells him it will be raining by the end of the day.

He pauses at the end of the bed briefly to look up along the mattress which is too big for tiny little Jim there all alone. Sebastian wets his lips. "I'll be back." But he says it low just in case.

\----

There isn't much reaction to the words because the moment Jim's head settles on the fresh pillow. He's drifting, a testament to his exhaustion but he does mumble a reply, lost somewhere between waking and slumber, so it comes out in a sleepy slur.

"Mmkay 'Bastian..." It's half mumbled into the pillow, and so soft it might as well be a whisper. He's thankful for the tug of curtains, and the darkness pulls him down even quicker, till he's snoring softly, dreamless and deep.

\---

He has to bite his lip, has to. Pinches it right between his teeth and none too softly, taking a nasal breath as he tries, with no success really, to contain his smile. But it's adorable and... well. He's wearing all of a shirt and nothing else. And that's Sebastian's bed. Sometimes, Jim can be astonishingly precious but he'd never say that out loud because he can guess the consequence would be rather severe. So he watches another bit longer and peels his gaze away at last to go downstairs, quiet in shutting the door as he goes.

A jog down the stairs makes the house seem suddenly empty. He slips into the kitchen and is greeted with an almost normal smile.

"Sebastian, bonjour."

"Bonjour." (Afternoon.) Elbows hit the counter and he leans his weight on the good one, having no trouble at his height to glance at what she holds. With his appearance, she lifts with both hands a plate decorated with a ploughman’s lunch consisting of his usual preferences. It’s ideal.

“J’ai préparé une salade pour James. Est-il toujours parmi nous ?" (I made James a salad. Is he here still?)

Sebastian lifts his arms off the counter again and takes the plate with his good set, resting it in front of him with a soft clink of marble and china. It’s his poor limb he decides to use for picking into the food, so that he can laze with his other on the cold marble. “Oui, il est à l’étage." (Yes, he's upstairs.")

And it’s right that moment he realizes just how hungry he’s gotten by this hour, terribly used to eating far more often even if in smaller doses. In no time he is stuffing chosen pieces into his mouth, cold cuts and cheese and bites of bread. Aveline laughs softly at him. .

“Prends ton temps, tu vas t’étouffer.” (Slow down, you will choke.) She bats a hand at him. “Il ne te rejoint donc pas ?" (Is he not joining you?)

It takes a moment or few for him to get through a mouthful and swallow before he answers. “Il se repose. Je lui apporterai plus tard.” (He's resting. I'll take it to him later.) But he hasn't forgotten that Jim is refusing to eat Aveline's meals. He pauses. “Il nous reste des fruits ?" (Do we still have fresh fruit?)

Aveline leans her curvy body against the counter. “Oui, bien sûr. Tu veux que je t’en coupe quelques-uns ? (Of course. Do you want me to cut any?)

A shake of wet blond. “Non, je vais le faire." (No. I'll do it.)

Her gaze lingers on him for a moment, as he stuffs more into his mouth like teenage boys do, but she nods just the same. No sense in arguing, even if it is unusual. “Comment s’est passé votre camping ?" (How was your camp?)

At this, Sebastian continues to chew, prolonging his swallow because lying to Aveline is not exactly something he does, but he will and he can, and he is remarkably good at keeping lies out of his expression.

“Bien. J’ai eu un lapin. Je n’ai pas trouvé de cerf, par contre. De toute manière, le traîner jusqu’ici ne me tentait pas.” (Fine. Shot a rabbit. Didn't find any deer though. Just as well, I didn't want to drag it back here.)

Aveline smiles again. ““Quel dommage. Cela fait bien longtemps que je n’ai pas eu de chevreuil dans ma cuisine.” (That’s a shame. I haven't had venison in my kitchen for a while.)

Sebastian mimics her smile. “Une prochaine fois." (Next time.)

It seems to please her well enough and after a minute, she returns to whatever she was doing, leaving Sebastian to eat. He finishes the entirety of the plate before moving around the counter to fetch fruit, sliding a proper knife out of the block. For a moment, he glances over the blade, turning it in the glare of overhead light, but it was not the same one Jim had used and so he went about chopping a thing or two with at least some efficiency. A bit of melon and cucumber, whole berries sprinkled in while he's at it. He packs them into a container and on the top, sets an uncut apple which he carries upstairs with a glass of water. He slips back into the bedroom quietly, intent to set his bounty on the bed table.

\---

Jim is not exactly a sound sleeper, considering he's not much of a sleeper at all. He's had an hour or so to nap, and that's practically a night's worth to him. His eyes crack open as Sebastian moves beside the bed and places the container of fruit on the night table. It's so very obvious that Sebastian has prepared it himself, and something about that appeals vastly to Jim, that he's respecting Jim's wishes, even if they are ridiculous ones.

He slowly sits up, the side of his face is red and his hair flat from where it's dried out of its damp state and been smashed against a pillow. He's not quite so burnt looking now; it wasn't a serious raze, just an uncomfortable one. His eyes adjust to the dark and he gives the blond a sleepy stare of a cat who is guarding a comfortable pile of clothing he's made into his bed and knows it will be claimed back any moment. He rolls onto his back and fits into the darkness of the room like any other shadow, shrouded in the oversized dark shirt that blocks out the glow of his pale skin.

Sebastian is so _accommodating_ and Jim has a feeling he always will be. It's not exactly a reward because Jim wants it too. He opens his arms and beckons Sebastian to join him down on the bed, on his own bed, which has become Jim's, like everything else Sebastian once owned.

\---

His own hair has dried in a side fallen mess of sorts, all the length pushed to one direction and curving like a wave over his forehead. He could fix it, but his usual vanity is overwritten by how tired his mind is; doesn't leave much room for fuss. He was going to dig about their returned things, find his leathers and have a write, but Jim is already awake and there isn't much point. Beckoned by slender open arms and a rather cute, half slept look, Sebastian can’t help but crack another smile as he obliges.

It's one knee on the bed and he moves to Jim's side, flopping himself over where his head lands on the collective of pillows. His arm, the good one, dives under Jim's small figure and curls around, giving him a tug on over to fill what space was left between them. It makes him grin even though he could be punished for it.

\---

Jim lets on an undignified squeak as he's dragged across the mattress and up against Sebastian's chest. Warmth envelopes him and Jim is in no mood for punishments, for they've both been dealt more than enough today. He curls his body up against the blond's, head resting upon a strong shoulder so he can look up at the older boy. He can see the exhaustion in each line that's works its way across Sebastian's face.

"You should rest." He drawls softly, setting a hand against Sebastian's chest. "I'll keep you safe."

\---

Sebastian lets his head pool on the pillows and a sigh tumbles out as Jim settles up against his side. It's familiar territory now, having Jim close, whether it's in a tiny tent or on mattresses of varied quality. He likes the feeling, even though his track record for putting up with people clinging on him was an ugly one; Jim is not just anyone, he is far, far above them all.

"You'll have to wake me." It’s a half amused warning, sprinkled with a smile he tilts his head to look at Jim. He does sleep considerably better than the Irish boy and as Jim had put it, too long.

\---

Jim hums low and stares at Sebastian. Jim certainly doesn't have to do anything and he'll either wake Sebastian or he won't. He doubts he'll even stay in the boy's arms, himself eternally restless. He'll nibble at the lunch that has been brought, read more journals, work on his star chart. Let them both sink into a form of normality, or at least whatever it is that they can achieve that comes close to it.

"Sleep." He commands, and to assure that's what happened, Jim lifts his hand up and starts dragging his fingers through haphazard blond, thin nails scratching along the scalp beneath in a soothing stroke. It's a lazy pace, and the digits skim across pressure points and smooth the hay coloured strands back into some sort of semblance of order.

\---

Jim orders him to sleep and that's so easy for him to do most of the time there is no doubt it will happen. As slender fingers slip into his hair, Sebastian groans, breathy and soft, eyes falling shut just like that. He doesn't need to admit it, Jim is clever and surely he's figured it out. Although it was so very, very long ago that someone else use to do so, it's a comfort that lulls him almost dangerously easy. Jim has promised to keep them safe and there are two loaded firearms in this room; it might seem ridiculous inside of his own chambers but Sebastian is feeling the early plague of a man who will someday trust nothing which offers _obvious_ safety.

He is full and mentally drained, and Jim's weight is there against him. Those fingers are an anchor that drag him down into the lull of theatrical dreams about nonsense.

\---

Jim lays with Sebastian for a long while, calculating things like his shift in breathing and the slow heart beat and body temperature, storing it away in the vast bank of knowledge he's steadily been compiling away about this boy. Once he's sure Sebastian is deep asleep, he slides out of the circle of his arms and pads over to find the journal he'd left off on, scooping up a few more and then silently slipping back into bed beside the slumbering blond. He plucks the apple off the container and sets it aside to eat later, going for the prepared fruit instead because it will spoil faster.

Opening the journal and being careful not to smear any juices on the page, he reads and nibbles at the food, letting hours creep by. Sebastian needs his rest and Jim allows it, because he is content to lay here while the other naps. Relaxing isn't really a luxury he's used to and he'll get it when he can. He's comfortable here, in Sebastian's room, in Sebastian's company. And that's rare as well.

\---

He'll sleep for an eternity if he's never woken, at least, it feels that way. He's been active today and burning energy lends itself well to his prolonged rest. His dreams are placid so he moves only in inches; a turn of his head on the pillow, the movement of his arm after Jim's weight has disappeared, the shift of limbs as he slips in and out of cycles. Jim is quiet and Sebastian is a silent sleeper, so when the rain begins to fall, the pitter patter of droplets on the glass windows and the high roof can be heard well, creating a gentle ambience. It grows darker, the sun hiding behind the clouds as it slips to the other side of the sky.


	17. Breathe with Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can have me.
> 
> The story of Moriarty and Moran, from the very beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This will be updated every Saturday!**
> 
> Thanks go out to our precious [Hippano](http://hippano.tumblr.com/) for everything! <3

Jim finds the rain soothing, relaxing. Its pitter patter against the window pane is something that solidifies the comfort that has enveloped him. Hours tick by and the room darkens further as the sun sinks. Jim climbs out of the bed again and heads to the fireplace against the wall, setting in logs and tinder and starting a fire crackling with minimal effort. It's much easier than doing it in the woods. He stares with satisfaction at the flames he's built for several minutes, before settling himself back in bed.

He sits beside Sebastian now, watching him sleep, and it would be creepy to anyone observing, because he is silent, his face blank as he takes in the sight. But Sebastian has had enough sleep. Jim crawls forwards and touches the other boy's face, cradling it and pressing his fingertips into the tanned skin.

"Wake up."

\---

Air is taken in, mimicking the way his consciousness gets pulled from the sea of theatrical plays that swim around in his mind. Almost immediately, the dreams scatter, never to be recovered as lashes flutter apart to darkness and shadow and pale skin. His left hand moves, lifts as if to reach for Jim, but plaster falls like dead weight against his clothed chest and prompts a heavy sigh. Blue is gone again behind their thin barriers.

If left alone, he'd fall right back asleep, but Jim won't be doing that. There's a small groan in his throat when he tries, _tries_ to move, to keep himself from sinking back down into the comfortable haze. As far as he gets is tilting a cheek into Jim's hand and feeling around with the good one for some part of the boy whose weight shifts the mattress beside him.

\---

Sebastian is never quick to wake, and his sleepy state amuses Jim enough that that blank stare is replaced with the tip of a corner of his mouth in a smile. Sebastian's hand skims against the pale skin of his knee that peaks out beneath his borrowed shirt, and Jim leans down, repeating his request in a softer whisper.

"Please wake up..."

Jim doesn't often say please. He isn't one for manners, and he certainly doesn't care. But he has reasons now, reasons for sweetness and pleases. Soft lips press to Sebastian's lips, just a feather light touch that skims itself further down, over strong chin and jaw, down towards the line of his neck. The sun's warmth has made Sebastian glow, making his skin even warmer, like its luminance is trapped beneath the dermis, waiting for Jim to claim it.

\---

That please burrows into his sleep addled mind and gives it a little nudge. Soft lips on his send signals firing off to his limbs, telling him it is no longer time to rest and it's so terribly lazy but his eyes open and he sighs a hum, this time for the enjoyment of traveling affection.

A smile peeks at the scarred corner of his mouth and his eyes are still shut when he moves his arm further, slow about getting to where it's going, brushing on a thigh where shirt fabric scoots up in its travels. But once it's there, curled around what part of Jim's leaning body he can reach, he tugs, beckoning for Jim's closeness, his poor limb joining in when it catches Jim's upper arm. He tilts his head to press his lips wherever he can, temple and cheek bones, trying to get to his mouth while he mumbles against pale skin.

"I'm awake."

\---

Jim feels Sebastian shift and move to reach for him, useless hand trying to tug him forwards. But the smaller boy doesn't make it easy, forcing Sebastian further awake as he must open his eyes and move should he want to catch Jim because he's not giving in. He wants the blond completely alert and he's not letting him downstairs for any coffee, so they'll have to make do.

"Not really..." Jim coos, mouthing against the pulse in Sebastian's throat, nipping at the throbbing vein below the skin. He doesn't hinder the movement of hand, no matter how high it creeps up his thigh. In fact, he welcomes it, spreading his legs apart slowly across the mattress to steady his perch upon the bed.

\---

Jim is all temptations and he may as well be offering intravenous narcotics for the resistance Sebastian puts up.

Words make his smile become a tired grin, mouth persistent, teeth nipping at his throat, thighs parting and making his hand scoot up a bit higher. The blond's left knee bends upward sluggishly and the hand on Jim's thigh, by now creeping for hip, slides right back off to press his elbow into the mattress. It's a precursor. All that's left is the poor hand which has enough flex in fingers alone to slide off the slender arm and instead, press the digits to ribcage he can feel beneath fabric, thumb giving all the soft pressure when he suddenly nudges Jim, not back but to the side. With heel in the bed for leverage, he rolls them over, catching the other side of tiny ribs with the good arm now digging into the sheets for balance. Jim's head hits pillows and his knees are still bent but no matter. A shift about has Sebastian on his, the cast leaning on pillows to redistribute how he rests his weight as he slides down, face pressed to borrowed fabric. One hand or the other manages to just get fingers full of shirt and begin pulling it up, gathering in his grip and careless to how much gets exposed until it's halfway up Jim's torso where his mouth is waiting to taste skin. Stubbornly, his eyes remain unopened when he speaks against porcelain another time.

"Yes really."

\---

Jim has been waiting for it all along, but when Sebastian finally puts his size and strength to good use by flipping the smaller boy over onto his back, it's a thrill he can't possibly describe yet. His stomach flutters like the buzz of wasp wings, and his eyes are wide and the colour of honeyed whiskey in the flickering firelight. Sebastian's pushing up his own shirt, revealing pale and flushed skin that's absolutely wasted because Sebastian's still keeping his eyes shut. The breath pressed to his naked torso has him shivering and those cheeky words have Jim laughing; the combination is so very odd.

The small body arches and stretches against the mattress, rolling out of the way of the questing lips.

"Bastiaaan~" He drawls with a lazy roll of his tongue. "You still look asleep to me." His mouth tugs down in a mock pout, yet it's another effort wasted with those crystalline blues locked away behind a cage of lashes. "Shall I leave you to the pillows then?"

\---

Jim escapes him, momentarily, if not because Sebastian has left room for him to do so. His forehead drops against the sheets where Jim used to be, heaving a breath that mocks wistful sentiments about this denial. The way his fractured name rolls off Jim's tongue makes him grin to the sheets, insisting the truth that he is still lazy from waking. Well. That won't do and neither will pillows.

Slowly, Sebastian tilts his head up, bright blue open and piercing like a predator as they focus intensely on Jim- firelit eyes and adorable pout. Lips parted a fraction, just there in the corner they pull upward mischievously, slicked wet by warm pink that sneaks out in no hurry. And then he moves all at once, abandoning his sluggish pace when he sits upright on his knees and reaches with both free hands to pull Jim back to where he wants him. Weight fluctuates on the mattress when he shifts to straddle the smaller frame, making it considerably harder to get away from him. His good hand takes hold of one breakable wrist, pressing it into the plush of pillows by jet black head where it doesn't suffer for the firmness of his grip as it's pushed down. Now, Jim is the sole focus of his relentless stare, even when he lowers his head to kiss the spot he was previously denied.

\---

Jim's trying hard not to giggle, as undignified as that sound is, because Sebastian has got him positively giddy as he's dragged down the sheets and positioned exactly as the older boy wants. His hand is captured and pinned to the bed, and the illicit thrill of actually being at the blond's mercy slides through him like he's sinking into a basin of cold water. He shivers, but its in obvious delight, though he kicks his feet a bit because Jim can't just lay there and take, even when he wants to.

He wriggles uselessly at the bonds of a solid strong hand around his wrist, and then all effort is put on hold as lips touch his skin and make his stomach flutter. He sighs out a whoosh of air from his lungs and visibly deflates under the attention. Head leans back against the pillows and he hums out his approval, even if the oversized material is tucked up under his chin and leaving him exposed and trapped beneath Sebastian's mercy. There is some sort of appeal to having a man who could hurt him and break him in so many ways, but absolutely won't. Sebastian may be pinning him down, but it's Jim who has all the power.

With a pleased smirk, the free hand comes up and comes through pale gold locks, pushing them up off of the older boy's forehead so he can watch the worship of flesh take place.

\---

Sebastian's mouth is a greedy thing and he enjoys the task of touching and tasting every bit of skin that comes into his path. It starts high on smooth midsection just below the gathered fabric, traveling down unhurriedly while fingers sift through blond. He catches a good look of Jim's expression, mimicking the smirk with devilry in his eyes just before they flicker down to the task at hand, tilting his head and nipping open-mouthed at pale abdomen.

Every shudder and out of rhythm breath that Jim makes is delightfully his but what he really wants has yet to surface. That won't do, not for long. He's outwardly ignoring the entirety of Jim's exposure even though he's wonderfully aware of it; slender hips and soft thighs and early arousal. It's all terribly tempting. Jim has the power but he's at the mercy of Sebastian's teasing whims just now.

Prolonging the grip he keeps on the other boy's wrist, he redirects to the side, where ribs are etched lightly beneath the fair plain and a shark's mouth leaves a trail of cooling wetness and pinkish spots. It _is_ worship. He treats Jim with a kind of reverence only found in a man obsessed with deity, every taste and touch like he's going to memorize it, force the recollections of them into their skin like salt ground into a wound.

\---

Sebastian is not Jim. The blond boy favors to take his time, to drag it out for as long as the smaller boy allows. Foreplay seems to excite him, as it would excite anyone, save for an insecure, pale Irish boy who wriggles and squirms, stuck between hatred of drawing out the inevitable while he's in such a vulnerable position and just attempting to enjoy it for what it is. The longer it lasts, the more impatient he gets. He likes the admiration and the worship, no doubt. But when that worship is placed against his body instead of his mind, Jim feels helpless and inexperienced, both of which he hates with a burning passion.

But Sebastian deserved whatever it is he wants after this morning- well, whatever within reason. Jim doesn't know much beyond basics; it’s not something he's researched, though perhaps considering his partner, he should. His breath hitches as Sebastian sucks blemishes into his stretched side, drawing him out of his thoughts. He's grown flustered, pale skin giving way to a healthy blush, making him look slightly less haggard .

The sound he makes is embarrassing, a gasp and a moan all at once, a bit wavy in pitch as he squirms under the press of a wet tongue. It's not a bad feeling, but Jim so dislikes relinquishing that control. Even if the person he gives it over to is one he trusts explicitly.

\---

That sound has Sebastian grinning against a small rib where his mouth is pressed, casting a short glance upward along the stretch of Jim's body to see how his expression has changed. Moments like these, the intimate ones, are when the shield that usually protects brilliance begins to get a bit translucent; like a muscle that isn't use to being stretched a particular way.

He's being terribly patient, the older boy can tell. Body language is not as difficult to read as expressions or words, and Jim is well guarded in all matters but this intimacy between them. Bodies give away secrets, of insecurity and enjoyment, lust and repulsion. It's in the control Jim tries- no, insists- on maintaining. In the reluctance of sound that has to escape the prison of lungs and throat to surface. He's familiar with these signs, just as he is aware of the significance of Jim's trust in him. That he is allowed to see this side of him at all...

A thoughtful noise hums quietly in his throat as the blond sits up, his hand releasing Jim's wrist but not because he intends to abandon him. In the next few moments, he does three things, all of which he commits to in assertive motion. One, he pulls his own shirt off in a few tugs, up his back and over his head. Two, he almost demandingly removes the one Jim has claimed, tossing that too. And three, he leans down but not for stolen kisses; his good arm acts support for his body so that the poor one can reach across them and finger open the drawer of the bed table, plucking something out of it.

He returns to the space above Jim with a small bottle in hand. If he's going to object, there's a pause there that waits for it, but it disguises itself as more of a show of intent than a request for permission. In the language they speak, permanent understanding is who is in charge, no matter who leads.

\---

As his wrist is released, Jim is quick to take any ground he's won back, pulling the limb in against his chest. Fingers clench and unclench against the rapid beat of his heart and he wills himself to calm down and keep those escaping sounds to a bare minimum. But Sebastian has other plans, and soon he is tugging at Jim's last shield, the over sized shirt gathered around his throat. It's whisked away and Jim is completely bare now, skin raising to the cool air that's yet to warm from the circulation of the heat the fireplace is sending into the room.

Sebastian shifts above him, offering a view of stretched, tanned muscle before he's pulling back into place with a small bottle in hand. It doesn't take any of Jim's genius to figure out what's in that bottle and his eyes widen ever so slightly, the dark brown consuming the light from the flickering fireplace, making it look like stars are swirling in small explosions in his line of vision. Sebastian's not asking, not really. He never does, as if Jim somehow renders him mute, even though history has proven that delving in without permission has given disastrous results. He is getting better, he is learning, but Sebastian still has a firm grasp of what he wants and he only occasionally voices his intent.

Despite the worry chewing at the back of his mind, Jim nods, cheeks already scarlet from the sun, so it is impossible to blush any further. Jim is inexperienced though he knows to expect discomfort from whatever Sebastian has planned. He also knows that this could affect how he deems to view any future endeavors and will naturally put the blame on the older boy. He is nervous, yes, but the pressure lies on Sebastian.

\---

There's a look on Jim's face, if only briefly, but it's a new one and Sebastian almost thinks it's worry. Being nervous would be reasonable for anyone, but Jim spends so much of his time walled off behind controlled expressions that it's difficult to tell if he's ever frightened or concerned with anything. Guns, fists, and murder don't bother him. But this is different, he knows that because Jim's body betrays him in ways it has not yet learned to guard, but Sebastian likes the idea that he trusts him enough to show it even if he's still putting on the brave face; nod and all for silent permissions to questions not really asked but still there. The burn on pale cheeks is doing favors only for the older boy because it's rather cute, that flush of color, even if the idea of Jim blushing is absurd. But it's all very human and normal, as if _they_ were normal, and quietly Sebastian likes that.

Something changes. Their mockery of a power play has ended there, because it was always a shame when the power that could be taken, wasn't. Sebastian's expression softens and there's a smile in place, not because intent has changed but perhaps his approach has. Jim is not a boy to be babied and quite frankly, the blond wouldn't stand for doing it, but neither can it be approached in his usual, brash manner of cockiness because Jim wouldn't likely stand for that either. There's a middle ground there and he'll find it, because even kings and brilliant stars need a kind of reassurance.

He leans down, good hand leveraging, the bad elbow digging into the bed and giving him the angle to tilt his chin, stubbled cheek pressing to the softness of Jim's. He speaks low, a sultry whisper in the Irish boy's ear, firm assurance to what was already understood. "You are in charge. You are _always_ in charge."

If Jim stops him, utters a word of halt, it will be obeyed. A small incline presses a kiss to his cheek, brushing lips downward and speaking calmly against Jim's jaw line. "Just breathe."

\---

When Sebastian shifts and moves up to press them cheek to cheek, Jim is tense, pulled taut like a bow string. The scratch of a stubble covered cheek has him flinching, actually flinching but not because he doesn't want any of this- because he doesn't really know what to expect. And Jim hates not knowing. As the blond's words wash over him however, a soft rush of air leaves Jim's lungs and he relaxes a fraction.

There was never any doubt, because Jim has taken care of things before when he didn't like something. But now Sebastian is telling him, giving his complete control no matter what. Sebastian is a selfish boy who wants many things from Jim. He's taken before and though Jim begrudgingly has accepted the older boy's affections, that truth remains.

As Sebastian kisses his cheek, Jim's hands come up and touch his face, holding it in his palms for a moment before he let's it slide away. The reassurance is there. If he speaks up, Sebastian will obey.

Jim sighs out a whoosh of air and leans back on the pillows. He trusts Sebastian. The boy has killed for him. More than once. And Jim sees it as only proof that Sebastian is truly his. He's not going to disappoint Jim if he possibly can.

\---

Sebastian leads with dotted kisses when he shifts and moves downward; one at the collar, one at the center of ribs, one beneath them, one mid belly, pausing just briefly to nip at the soft protrusion of hipbone beneath pale skin- a favorite of his. Slipping down the mattress to level with slender legs he nudges apart, Sebastian perches himself between the spread, one knee bent beneath his own weight.

Sitting up, he has a perfect display of Jim's body, from thighs to small hips and pale stomach, all the way to his to rosy cheeks, he's a little art form Sebastian appreciates in a manner no gun would ever be looked at. A lick of his lips makes him focus on his task. Before going any further, he uncaps the small bottle and pours a worthy amount on the unrestricted set of fingers, working a good coat on each one. Recapped, the bottle goes wayside but not too far, and he uses sister digits to make sure he's thorough. It's cool to the touch but it warms quickly on his skin, a light, sweet smell to it; something water based.

Satisfied, he leans with his body, torso pressing down on his folded leg, using the ill hand to coax Jim's right knee up onto his shoulder. Coated fingers gently tap along inner thigh, careful not to waste their moisture as they slip further in exploration, intentionally ignoring the obvious for sensitive spots where foreign fingers have never touched. He distracts anticipation with his mouth, tilting cheek to press kisses to milky inner thigh, nibbling in places he's once left marks. The tip of one finger brushes over the sensitive ring of nerves and muscle, gentle, doing little else than rubbing and circling lightly as the smaller body grows accustomed to one new sensation at a time.

\---

Jim's familiar with Sebastian's kisses by now, kisses that vary from soft to hard, pleasing and demanding all at once. They are nice and yet they aggravate Jim at the same time, because he isn't used to such kindness, such adoration. And yet it's also what he's always wanted. Jim is eternally stuck squirming in the middle. And squirming beneath Sebastian.

Sebastian stares at a pale, skinny body like it's something worth looking at, and before Jim can scoff at it, Sebastian pushes his knees apart and wedges his broad body down between narrow thighs. Jim has to look away because he feels the first tendrils of embarrassment creep up his spine. It's not really that he's bashful, but Sebastian's face is right there, staring at such an intimate spot on his body. It feels like being put under a magnifying glass and he shifts slightly, hands going to his chest, curling together above his breastbone.

The sound of the bottle uncapping makes his heart skip a beat and then speed up, thudding in his chest. There's a tap to his thigh that startles him and then the leg is lifted to Sebastian's shoulder. He feels spread open like this but before he can give complaint, Sebastian is kissing again. Jim focuses in on the press of that mouth, or at least tries to, but his attention goes to the fingers skimming in against the inside of his thigh, down and down, until it skims over the tight ring of muscle that makes Jim gasp.

Oh it’s such an odd, squirmy sensation and his first reaction is to shy away from it. But he forces himself still, save for the shivers Sebastian's stroking touch sends up his body, breathing out till he relaxes and the massaging fingers are finally something to enjoy. He shifts against the mattress, hips pushing downwards in a silent order for him to continue on.

\---

Sebastian is as close to delicate as he ever gets because he cares for Jim in a way he affords no one else. He listens and feels, more so than using his sight, as the body tells him so much and Jim is expressive, in his tension and his breathing. So when he's relaxed and urging, Sebastian moves on just so.

It's a careful hand that touches and one finger which presses against the tightness, wet and slick and seeking entry. Sliding inside, he makes no hurry of pushing the digit all the way in, gauging the reaction and for the moment, adding no extra stimulus with his mouth on Jim's thigh; unaccounted is the heat of his calm breath which acts almost intentionally as a guide. He gives him a few moments to relax and breathe before slipping back out. Each time he guides the digit in, it's a little farther, for a little longer, a methodical reading of every reaction as Jim's body grows familiar.

\---

That initial push draw a whine from Jim and it feels....awkward. There is enough lubrication covering the finger that it doesn't burn, but it is uncomfortable. It's half nerves, more of the discomfort in his head rather than his actual body. The sensation is foreign and Jim can't possibly see how it'll ever become pleasant. But then Sebastian drags his finger out, and Jim immediately feels empty. He squirms slightly, already missing the feeling even though he's not sure he likes it.

Sebastian enters him again, wriggling deeper, and this time it's not as awkward. Jim's brows unknit and a sigh pushes out a sigh of the breath he was holding. There's a rush of adrenaline in the push and pull, a bubble of excitement that feels effervescent. Finally, Jim is shifting his hips, encouraging that finger deeper.

\---

Jim's physical communication may be Sebastian's favorite language in a growing collection. It's a soft smile that touches pale skin now, once again tending the supple flesh with an affectionate mouth that plays well to combine familiar sensations with the new. This time, he does not pull out entirely before pushing back into the snug warmth, knuckles brushing against tender skin when the full stretch of his digit is reached.

With every step comes ease of the last and now he presses deep each time, never leaving, nipping at Jim's inner thigh and casting reddish hints of marks promised to be made. To compliment the oral attention, his digit begins to curl in gentle search for the little knot within, pressing and rubbing against the inner walls that contract around him. Blue eyes cast a gaze upward to scout over pale landscape, reading the fluctuation of chest and the range of expressions that cross Jim's features in Sebastian's exploration.

\---

Sebastian's mouth now offers a flutter of distraction in its sharp little nips and pinches of his lips and teeth. He gives a soft whine at the paired pressure, his knee bumping against the side of Sebastian's head behind his ear. Jim doesn't want to be distracted. Sebastian is already getting what he wants and it won't do to be greedy. Jim wants to experience all of it, because Sebastian's not going to trick him into liking something he doesn't like.

Oh, but then the pad of the blond's finger brushes against the edge of his prostate and Jim flails, keening up off the mattress as best he can while only in control of one leg.

"OH Íosa Críost fucking cad a bhí na fuck go OH mo fucking dia 'Bastian!"** It streams from his mouth in a thick Irish brogue and he squirms and clutches at the sheets in one hand, the other knotting in Sebastian's hair. He manages to both push and pull at the blond before he settles back down on the mattress, eyes darting around the ceiling unfocused before settling back on the boy between his legs. "Do it again."

\-- 

Well, that is a fucking utterly satisfying reaction. Sebastian may not speak Gaelic, yet, but there's enough cursing laced in there that he can get the gist, a grin peeling across his face by the time his name is plucked out in thick accent. Jim is often Sebastian's delight but almost incomparable is when he speaks natural tongue, not under the perception of provocative foreign languages but simply, the suggestion of control lacking when the sounds come tumbling out so freely. Fingers have found untamed blond while the older boy sits paused, letting the smaller body settle before he makes another move. He can't help it, a peek of white teeth flashing when Jim gives him an order, trying to contain the expression so he licks his lips and complies, keeping watch on dark eyes which reflect the firelight illuminating the room.

Again, his finger slides deeper and curves in search, an easier find the second time around and now, he doesn't draw away so swiftly, rubbing up against the knot in varied pressure; gentle, then firm and something in between. He's occupied, watching Jim intently, giving no other distractions for the time being, although his idle hand lays on the duvet beside the slender body and touches fingertips to small hip, as it can do little else positioned this way.

\---

Jim is better prepared for the next prod of that exploring finger, bracing himself as it slips up inside of him, relentless in the search for that spot that shocks up his spine. Though he's prepared himself, it’s still not enough, and as Sebastian applies constant pressure, Jim gives a shaky moan and can't keep his eyes open, clenching them tight and biting his bottom lip till it dents under the pressure of his teeth.

The sensation chases through his body like a runaway rabbit, darting around like it's dodging a bullet from Sebastian's rifle. It's pleasure, but it's not quite like an orgasm, not the ones he is used to. It shifts through him as Sebastian shifts his finger, and Jim finds that when he wriggles his hips in a lazy roll, it feels even better. He rotates his hips, letting out little mewls and squeaks that under no circumstance Jim would normally make, if he wasn't being unraveled by clever fingers and far too distracted to reel himself back together again.

\---

Jim's little noises, uncharacteristic or not, go right through Sebastian, who forces himself to breathe calmly- but bloody _hell_ is he hard. His blood runs hot and it's fucking glorious even when he's utterly neglected himself because he takes personal satisfaction in watching others come unglued; above all, Jim. 

But Sebastian is tactical if not a touch devilish and when Jim is good and into it, he slides free and moves his hand away. Unlikely noticed was his cast arm shifting as it felt around for the bottle he'd abandoned and now, the cap pops softly as it's opened with his thumb. He's generous with applying more to his fingers, but he does try to hurry about it for all Jim's waning patience. All unsaid but done, his finger returns to stroke against the tight entrance and slide back in but oh so carefully does he begin to introduce a second digit.

\---

Jim certainly isn't going to pay attention to Sebastian's needs right now, he's far too zeroed in on what exactly his body is doing in regards to the press of an insistent finger and the sparks of pleasure that snap up his spine like a whip crack. He's writhing on that hand, trying to wriggle away from the pressure and ride it at the same time. It's good, but it's a little too good and he feels like his chest might burst.

And then suddenly there's no pressure at all as Sebastian removes his hand entirely. That sinking, empty feeling creeps back and Jim's eyes pop open. Is it over? He hears a plastic cap pop open and turns his head in time to watch another smear of liquid coat Sebastian's fingers right before they press inside of him again, and this time it's two.

The burn of the stretch is back again and Jim gasps, moaning in pain laced with pleasure. It's almost too much and he whines through the initial press, forcing himself still so he doesn't hurt himself. Jim is very small and Sebastian has thick fingers. However there are other parts of him that are much thicker and Jim is well aware of that impending fact looming in the distance.

\---

He does try to be kind about it, not agonizingly slow nor sudden in the introduction. There is no withdraw this time but he does pause, allowing the muscles to accommodate and relax against the intrusion as Jim lay there quite still. His fingers are well slick but there is still resistance in the tension of Jim's body and he regards that carefully as he presses further inside. It's a familiar pattern, the methodical stride of pulling back and pressing deeper in an effort to ease the strain of stretching muscles.

He's all eyes and ears on Jim, every breath and squirm of the small Irish body in his tending. After a few strokes, his fingers arch and seek and rub against the prostate hidden behind fleshy wall but this time, with both fingers, it's an ample touch with more leverage for a firmer press.

\---

Jim is trying to ignore the pain to focus more on the pressure and the pleasure those fingers could bring. His breath comes out in little hitches, until finally Sebastian strokes at the bundle of nerves and Jim is once again keening, overwhelmed once more by the jolts zapping through his small body. The massage at his prostate is much more solid now, and oh god does he want to touch his cock but his hands are clenched in the sheets and he can't seem to unkink the grip his fingers have on the fabric.

Finally he lets out a choked wail of Sebastian's name as pre-ejaculate leaks from the untouched tip of his prick to pool against his stomach. The older boy is practically milking his prostate, dragging an orgasm out of him in the most intense, yet torturously slow way he is able.

\---

As much as Sebastian enjoys the art of pleasure, tortuous and slow are not things he uses liberally, but tactically- and the time for that is passing its prime, as the body tells so very much in so many ways. Besides, he’s feeling rather tortured about now himself, trapped in sleepers dappled with moisture, no where to go, no hand to spare. Positive for Jim is that he is not out of options.

His free hand snuggles up against Jim's hip and his thumb is the only thing that could really caress over the soft curve, but it stretches itself enough to get a minute reminder of grip he couldn't actually hold there. That was it for limbs, surely, but the position of his body being mostly upright wasn't a coincidence. With a cheek already pressed to Jim's pretty thigh, he begins to nip at the supple flesh again, ever inching inward, taking a moment to be terribly torturous one more time when he pauses to bite and suck at one particular spot and leaves it be with a fresh mark on porcelain surface. All the while, his hand is ever busy, stroking, pulling away, diving deeper, returning to rub up against that treasured knot. And then, using the shoulder Jim's leg is propped on and the arm he tenses all the way to the hand which mocks firm grip to try and keep the smaller body still, Sebastian leans in that bit more and let's his tongue swipe across the exposed underside of Jim's cock. He may have temporary limitations he would prefer not to but he's clever in finding ways around that to get what he wants; particularly, Jim.

\---

The bite is a familiar sting- Sebastian likes to lay his claim with his mouth in that particular spot, it’s a curious habit that no doubt betrays the older boy's oral fixation. If he could somehow devour Jim, the Irish boy wouldn't find himself surprised. Sebastian pinches and sucks, and the pressure actually feels wonderfully good paired with the drag of finger tips that are pulling Jim apart from the inside out. And then Sebastian takes it upon himself to move that oral fixation down towards Jim's weeping cock.

It’s a split second before Jim is wailing again, the touch inside of him coupled with the slick drag of sinuous muscle is nearly too much. Silk and cotton rip audibly as his fingers rend the bedclothes to shreds and he is not shy about demanding more, pressing his twitching cock against Sebastian's cheek, smearing a glossy trail down towards his lips. Jim somehow growls and whines at the same time, and it’s something so rare, he must be desperate. 

"Please...."

\---

That plea' shudders right down Sebastian's spine and buries itself into his groin. He can feel himself twitch and can't help huffing hot breath against Jim, a salacious smile curving lips which turn their attention to the desperate, throbbing length being offered. Sebastian is utterly shameless, rubbing lips against rigid flesh, the way he slides his tongue across the wet tip, catching pearls of pre-cum like a dying desert flower. He is going to devour Jim, just not in any sense of cannibalistic sustenance; he uses his tongue and the tilt of blond and the arch of shoulder which brings Jim's hips up a bit higher, all to get his mouth on him.

He leaves a coat of saliva in his wake, tongue circles and there is all and no finesse to getting lips around the head when you've no second hand to guide but Sebastian is eager to comply and eagerness has a way of making men turn absolutely scandalous. Warm mouth wins when blushing cock slides into its wet depths and his busy hand is relentless, massaging and gentle thrusts which tap against that knot seeking to satisfy that plea.

\---

Sebastian has Jim trapped beneath his hand and the pleasure it brings, and if Jim had any sort of real grasp on himself, he would have been kicking at Sebastian for putting him in such a vulnerable position. But at his mercy is exactly where the older boy wants him and Jim is unable to do anything but whimper as Sebastian takes his time dragging lips and tongue across Jim's straining cock, finally taking it into his mouth just when Jim sees fit to burst.

Jim has no control over the keening whine that splits his lips, the combination of fingers and mouth far too much for a boy with so very little experience. He barely rests more than a minute on that sinful tongue before his body tenses and hips jerk, and Jim is coming so powerfully the English countryside must think itself plagued by a banshee. Jim has no shame to stay silent, and certainly no shame in nearly choking Sebastian as hips slam forwards, bringing another gush of release at the fingers inside him are twisted impossibly deeper. It’s so much, so overwhelming, and Jim is quickly so oversensitized that it begins to hurt, but for now, he's still wailing out his euphoria with little control over what he body is doing as it spasms beyond his control.

\---

He does almost, choke that is, because he's got nothing for weight to keep Jim's hips still and he can only predict what's predictable about the body, not the boy. Jim hits the back of his throat, mouthful of cock and warm come and instinct makes him swallow around the head, which is probably brilliant and terrible at the same time. He slides back with a lecherous sound of suction pulling free, another hot pulse running through Jim and leaking milky fluid onto the flush pale skin of his lower abdomen.

Sebastian isn't dense, he knows the post shock of almost painful oversensitivity and when Jim peaks in his writhing orgasm, Sebastian halts all movement and simply... enjoys. If anyone in the house was previously unaware of what was going on, they certainly were not now. The usual eerie quiet of the Moran estate is accompanied by rain and thunder and Jim's voice this evening. A fine thing, even if he is loathed to share his prize.

Stubbled jawline touches soft thigh as he tilts his head, watching Jim's body stretched out before him, waiting for him to relax again before his fingers too, will slip out gently. All of that- the sound of his cry, the view of his supple body and how Jim's fingers claw and tear his expensive sheets. How he pulses under Sebastian's sight in the remaining throws, even the taste of Jim on his tongue, vaguely sweetened by the fruit he's primarily eaten since he arrived- yes, all of that is _incredibly_ helpful to the throb of hot blood aching inside of him. And he's smiling, smiling, smiling but he tries not to because once upon a time, short enough ago that it still vaguely smarts, his stupid joy got his wrist broken and he can't afford to lose the other. Yet he adores this boy, the one who calls him Bastian and orders him about and kisses him when he kills.

\---

Jim is once again a mess as a result of Sebastian's lewd practices. There's a warm sticky mess both inside and out, cooling into a paste like consistency in the thin trail of black hair that stretches up to Jim's navel. He's too exhausted to brush at it with his fingertips, or even glare at Sebastian for leaving it there instead of swallowing it like the rest. Everything, every touch and taste is in Jim's mind a one-sided endeavor that the blond steals from him, just like that first kiss, stolen away in a moment of pure surprise. Jim cannot see every moment like this as anything but that first time, even though he's long warmed up to the fact that the enjoyment is so very mutual. Sebastian is a thief forever more and he has stolen so much of Jim it's a wonder there is anything left of the small boy, who had so little to give in the first place.

But there is no scolding. There is no hatred anywhere in his posture or expression, nothing beyond the glow of a fresh orgasm upon his pale cheeks and chest. Jim is so utterly content in that moment and the thief could continue to steal without being reprimanded. Jim could not lift hand or foot to bring punishment and even though Sebastian smiles with far too many teeth, Jim feels nothing but admiration for the boy who has managed to not only steal his heart, but burrow inside of it in near permanent residence. It's so dangerous, and every day brings them closer and closer to a link that may never be fully severed. But Jim has been trapped by a hunter here on earth and there are nights when he doesn't even care to look to the sky.

With a soft, lazy sigh, Jim shifts slightly, dropping shredded cloth from his hand and stretching fingertips to sluggishly drag up Sebastian's cheek, thumbing over stubble and delving into sweat dampened hair before it drops uselessly back to his side. Dark eyes glitter in the firelight, half lidded and fighting off sleep that dares to creep towards his worn body. Nothing between them is ever spoken and nothing is at that moment either. But there is obvious invitation in his body language for Sebastian to proceed how he needs in order to alleviate the rather apparent erection pulsing urgently between his thighs. Jim just isn't going to help much and Sebastian only has himself to blame for it.

\---

This is familiar, this calm laziness that chases Jim's orgasm, and Sebastian doesn't begrudge that. Jim silently offered him an open invitation to do as he pleased and he chose to spend that time not on his own physical release but in his indulgence of Jim; his body, his pleasure and the eventuality of this calm. Like an addict always going back to the fix, rather than concerning themselves with their health. It’s selfish at the core because it’s all hunger and longing, it all leads somewhere and every step of the way, he takes his pleasures from it.

But he is still ordinary in one way or another and it leaves him needing. Because he's gotten what he wanted and it was Jim. Now he needs; he burns, aches, hasn't even noticed how fast his pulse races or that his breath is only borders of calm. Maybe this is just part of it, part of his twisted enjoyment, how much he aches in the aftermath. How badly he desires so much more of Jim and denies himself even when the opportunity arises because all he wants to do is put his hands and his mouth all over him. How sick is he to get off on his own desperation being almost but not quite ignored; Jim is still kind to him, _letting_ him do anything at all in the afterglow.

Sebastian doesn't want to think about stupid complexities of his yet unraveled madness. He wants to think about Jim. Easy thing to do when he's right there in front of him, laid out and sweetly divine in all his flushed porcelain and heaving breaths and lazy touch. The blond bites his bottom lip none too kindly and he doesn't seem to be done worshiping his tiny heathen idol. His mouth is turned in, pressing kisses on the thigh arched over his shoulder, rough by stubble but soft in touch, utterly and for certain casting devotion that does not go unworded as he slips it off his shoulder carefully.

"Mein Sternchen." He whispers against the skin as he moves, slow and agonized but delighted by a spiritual high. "Mein heller stern." (My bright star.)

And it's so deliberate in his second tongue, the one he learned as a boy and spoke only in private. In trust. His fingers were wiped clean of lube and elsewise, somewhere on the sheets; what did it matter, it will be cleaned later. Now he can touch elsewhere and his fingers slip under Jim's opposite knee, coaxing the leg closer as he begins to lean up, kissing to the round, boney bend. The hand moves, slides down the underside, inches itself around to Jim's hip. A shift in weight when he plants his good hand on the bed, allowing the plastered limb to move and reposition, sliding a bit higher, digging his elbow somewhere on the mattress alongside Jim's midsection and allowing Sebastian back up onto his knees. His mouth moves, abandons the leg and let’s it lazily go where it may, leaning in to press his lips to the undefined iliac furrow where his tongue slides, higher to chiseled shaped he nips at. His right hand is free again to move and it does, finds himself, curls none so gently and he hisses against Jim's pale skin when he does because he's already solid rock and dripping pre-cum and - ffffuck.

Blue eyes screw themselves shut, breath falls heavy on moist spots he's left and Jim is in his senses; his scent, his taste, the touch of skin he presses to, gasps against, almost trembling as he strokes himself and there's no need at all for fury in the movement.

"Ich gehöre dir." (I am yours) He breathes sensual worship.

\---

Sebastian's foreign utterances hardly go ignored, and though Jim has not yet mastered the tongue, he knows what those few words mean and can make sense of the rest. Sebastian is worshiping him, and praising him, adoring him in breathy words as if Jim can't understand how far this obsession has gone. The older boy is completely lost and in the span of a month, Jim has completely ruined him by offering little more than scraps and crumbs. Jim has replaced everything in Sebastian's life and it’s so very easy for the small Irish boy to see because Sebastian is not shy about hiding it.

And Jim only further encourages it.

Perhaps Sebastian deserved more than him, someone who will kiss him and hold him, and tell him constantly what an amazing creature he is, rare and perfect. But that person is not Jim and though he will never be the person Sebastian deserves, he will murder with bare hands anyone who attempts to become that person and replace him.

Sebastian's eyes are closed as he works his fist over his cock, and it’s a shame, because Jim is lazy and sated but he arches a supple body to reach up and drag fingertips down along the toned chest of the boy above him. Jim isn't much for touches but it's owed, and he can even out the scales before they tip and he ends up owing so much he can never recover. Down the fingers drag, skimming over flexing muscle till they brush over the blond boy's fist and gently push it away, taking over the task and curling his smooth, delicate fingers around the pulsing, desperate flesh.

Digits skilled and nimble enough to play sonatas are now wrapped around Sebastian's cock, shifting in a slow, lazy rhythm as they drag up over shaft and towards the leaking tip to collect moisture and facilitate the slide. And it's such a shame those beautiful blues are clenched shut because Jim is staring right at him, lips parted in a soft sigh that carries words barely above a whisper.

" 'Bastian.... mo sealgaire, mo laoch." (My hunter, my warrior.)

\---

Sebastian follows the touch of Jim's hand like a guide, leaning into it even though it disconnects his mouth from the worship of flesh. His precious idol is sweeter to him than fictitious gods could ever be; Caressing his rough hand, nudging it away as if it were offensively unnecessary. Sebastian sucks in air that expands his broad chest and blue eyes reveal when Jim begins to stroke him with that soft hand.

There he is, watching the shameless display with half lidded eyes as he takes over the task and now Sebastian's gaze is locked with the darkness that steals firelight from the room. Words curl into him that he doesn't understand but that soft Irish tongue speaks them beside his name and they dig into his chest as if he could know their meaning if they burrowed deep enough. The blond's good hand is rendered useless and it plants itself into the mattress for leverage, rocking hips into deceptively delicate fingers slick with his own pre-ejaculate. He's intoxicated by his little star, they both know it; Jim has his hand wrapped around him and he can't get any harder, if words were not undeniable evidence enough. If murder was not proof of devotion he's stated in more than one language. He's practically panting like a goddamn whore, desperate with the thought of Jim, a moan getting caught in Sebastian's throat where his shaky breath leaves no space for it.

He's losing it, easily. Whatever dignity he has, he doesn't bother with it, not when Jim looks at him that way; touching, whispering. This time, he doesn't utter against the flesh, no hiding behind lashes and soft darkness or breathing into a slender neck. It's an unwavering gaze into eyes which devour him wholly, broken only by the heavy fall of breath. Maybe Jim can't understand it entirely, but he will.

"Ich gehöre ganz dir-- Nur dir allein." (I’m entirely yours-- Yours alone.)

\---

When Jim first took Sebastian in hand like this, it had been more of an experiment than anything else, the younger boy curious to learn Sebastian's body and find out what sort of reactions he could drag out of the blond. It was his first taste of power, but it had been so very brief. Jim hadn't the full experience he'd wanted, but there really was no room to complain when he'd ended up with Sebastian's mouth around him.

But now, he has no intention to quit, even as his wrist begins to burn and lethargy sets into his muscles. Jim wants absolution to come from his touch alone, watching as he wrenches the orgasm from Sebastian by way of his very fingertips.

Bottom lip caught between his teeth as dark lashes smudge against flushed cheeks, well aware he was being stared at, and therefore giving his paramour something worth looking at. Jim's fingers are skilled at this in a way only a pianist can be, finding which spots make Sebastian's breathy gasps turn to moans. Jim is already an expert at reading a body and knowing just how to exploit it- it's only a matter of putting it to different use. And there is no other body he would rather exploit than that of the boy arching over him, spouting German in soft whispers of utter adoration.

\---

The truth of matters is that Sebastian only guesses at Jim's lack of experience, but he is quite aware that the younger boy is in no way naive on the subject. He can fondly recall the brunet in his lap with erections pressed and rubbing together, or perched atop his hips with cock between his satin thighs- oh no. Jim is not naive. He knows exactly what he does to Sebastian, his expressions, his voice; he's known it from the start because indeed Moran has never made an effort to hide it.

Those fingers are so supple and Jim's hand is smaller while Sebastian is, well. Not. He aids the long stride of slender digits with the jerk of hips every time that fist rolls over the ridge of glands and bloody hell it is exquisite torture to be out of control. He's surrounded himself in a sensory overload of Jim, all breath and grunts under the experimental fingers. Sure enough they drag a moan clawing from his throat and he can't, absolutely can't hold back the instinct to buck and arch into the touch. His body grows more eager, especially when Jim goes anywhere near the head. He writhes, bending his spine above the smaller frame, as if he could somehow press more of himself into that grip. What a panting mess he is as he grows closer, warmth of fire and hot skin starting to glisten finely on tan.

He repeats something in a mesh of air but what is more recognizable is the exhale of name that sounds terribly much like a plea. "Jim- beeilen-"* And he barely realizes appeal only has much use when they can understand, so when he can get enough air back into his lungs, he implores Jim; "faster."

\---

It’s quite the sight, Sebastian panting and desperate above him. Jim is well aware he's been in the same position, but Jim is a small, delicate (laughably) thing, where Sebastian is big and strong and to see him reduced to a moaning, begging mess makes Jim feel more powerful than before.

And poor, poor sweet Sebastian trusts Jim so much.

Jim ignores the request. The older boy needs to come so badly, he shakes and shudders. But Jim doesn't oblige, in fact, he brings his other hand around to join, wrapping it around the base of Sebastian's cock. But he doesn't stroke. He squeezes. Tight, just above the heavy weight of Sebastian's desperately full bollocks. His other fingers stray lazily around the tip of Sebastian's prick, pushing back his foreskin and rubbing at the glans, sticky and warm from precome. 

Thumbnail works its way into the slit, coaxing more and more of that steady dribble to coat his fingertips. He's so slow and precise, but his eyes never leave Sebastian's face, a contorted visage of the sweetest torture. The blond is shaking so hard, and finally, finally Jim loosens both grips, moving one hand lower to cup the more delicate bits as the other jerks in a smooth, swift snap of his wrist.

\---

He should know better. He'd worked out a long time ago that asking anything of Jim was entirely a chance that did not favor you in odds. He's unpredictable, there are few finer points where you can guess the brunet's behavior because at any given moment the answer might change for no reason at all. But this, he should have known. Not that he had much sense of thought at the moment.

And yet at the same time, Sebastian is relearning a different finer point; that he likes Jim's capricious nature. It thrills him. And so did sweet cruelty. No one has ever really denied him anything, certainly not an orgasm because he's never given them the opportunity to control him just so. This is new and it is perfectly agonizing.

When the other hand joins in and squeezes around him, the blood is cut off from circulation even temporarily, pre-ejaculate stopped in its steady tracks, nerves pressed and tightened beneath feverish, sensitive flesh-- and Sebastian is the one crying out this time. The breath falls out of him so fast he practically laughs as it shudders back into his lungs, groaning in another exhale as his face twists itself in conflict of pleasure and misery and want. Prying, utterly devilish fingers make him hiss through his teeth and shudder, his good arm tensing painfully in the effort to keep him propped up.

He can't help it, his eyes have smashed shut again in the contortion of features and as he works over the initial shock, dragged through blissful denial, they reopen to find Jim watching him unravel in breathless trembling. Fair is fair, of course, but it's new to Sebastian too. His strength wavers and his control is entirely relinquished; where another boy might have felt humiliated, it made Sebastian feel... euphoric. And horribly desperate. Now he really is nothing but panting moans and quivering lips and tremors that wrack his large frame from head to toe. His cock throbs furiously in Jim's hands, all strain in his muscles to keep him from bucking against that vice pressure. When Jim releases, he gasps and it almost, almost sounds like a deep whine that scratches his throat. He feels like he's going to explode, figuratively as much as literally. And he just about does when Jim handles him by the bollocks and strokes him with a clever jerk of his soft hand.

Another will put him in, just one. Sebastian is so tense holding himself together that he jolts, blond head jarred back as he swears loudly and with dragged consonant. In a snap, he's flushed and coming, the power of which twists in his expression something heavenly strenuous.

\---

Oh, Sebastian really should have known. Jim doesn't give into himself and that's top priority on the boy's list. Sebastian really isn't far behind, on a sad list with only two names upon it. But Jim still deems fit when to give in, and having the blond so vulnerable and needy above him only has Jim lusting after the complete and utter control he's found. Sebastian's pleasure wagers entirely on Jim's pale, small hand; this big, strong rugby player who could easily smash him in half. But a tiny collection of digits has him completely captured and at their mercy.

But Jim can be merciful and he shows as much when he finally lets his hunter have what he pleads for. The reward comes so swift, Jim barely has time to prepare himself for the powerful release, soiling fingers and hand and painting Jim's torso in white hot streaks. Jim has long associated their times together as messy, base occurrences, so it really comes as no surprise that once again he's covered, marked like property. Yet the thought doesn't upset him. It does not drag him from the depths of his power hungry haze because he may be covered, but it's entirely because he allows it.

His hand moves back to its lazy pace, working the last remnants of milky fluid from Sebastian's prick until it becomes oversensitive to the stimulation. Jim removes his hand, wiping it on sheets before reaching up with both to curl around Sebastian's shoulders and guide the older boy back down to the bed, taking the pressure off his single arm and wrist before he collapses. With a soothing touch, Jim rolls onto his side and smooths back Sebastian's sweat-dampened hair, murmuring sweet nothings and endless praise to the boy who craves it more than he does air.

\--- 

When oversensitivity begins to set into his post orgasmic state, Sebastian begins wincing, his entire torso flexing with the shock in his nerves until Jim takes his hands way. He's merciful in coaxing him down to the mattress and the older boy is careful about shifting himself so that his weight doesn't fall onto the smaller body. He doesn't much have the coordination for rolling about to his back and simply drapes belly flat to the mattress instead. His good wrist aches but he hardly notices when the rest of him is floating in a chemical high, relaxing out of its harsh tension when he hits the bedclothes and Jim is settled near him. The relief is enough to drag another soft moan from him, lungs making an effort of catching up.

Air is overrated.

Jim's fingers slide through pale blond and Sebastian's eyes are, for a moment, fallen shut as he revels in it. The Irish boy is sweetly attentive and his head is a bit fuzzy with bliss but he is positive that was the hardest he'd ever come in his bloody life. That was all Jim. So when he does open his eyes again to find him, he doesn't much resist his powerful urge to curl weakened arm around the tiny figure and press into him. Of course... They're a mess and he pauses to glance between their bodies with acknowledgement of this fact. But it's rather inconsequential for this exact moment because it's too late. He brings himself against Jim anyway, pressing his face to fair skin he kisses lazily.

The rain comes back into his notice, still spattering against the manor in a quiet storm.

\---

It’s so often like this afterwards, Sebastian a bit clingy and so very affectionate as he presses into Jim's skin and nuzzles. There are times Jim had abandoned him, pushed him away and worse, smashed bones. Jim isn't really much for cuddling, or perhaps it’s just years of being alone and abandoned that have conditioned him that way. But Sebastian craves it, thrives on any sliver of attention Jim gives, and perhaps, just maybe Jim wants it too; this undivided, pure devotion that Sebastian constantly has to offer.

So he'll suffer through the clinging and nuzzling and lazy kisses, and he won't stop the drag of his fingers through wilted blond locks or sweaty tan skin. He'll let Sebastian know with all of this, that his hunter is the only one privy to such touches. That he's fought and suffered long enough to reap his prize in the form of that coveted affection.

Jim is so much smaller, a tiny, fragile thing compared to Sebastian. And yet it's the blond who he pulls in to tuck under his chin, soothing with soft murmurs and fingers that dance down his spine as far as they can reach, then dart back up to bury into golden strands. He may be engulfed by arms strong enough to snap him in two, but it's Jim who is in control. Always Jim.

\---

Always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** I left this out because you can pretty much guess that it was essentially an incoherent stream of words but it amounts to: "Jesus fucking Christ oh what the fuck was that oh my fucking god 'Bastian"
> 
> *beeilen - Actually means "hurry." 
> 
> (And if anyone has corrections to either, please let us know!)


	18. Call to Arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanna be God, the devil, like me?
> 
> The story of Moriarty and Moran, from the very beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This will be updated every Saturday!**
> 
> Thank you to our darling [Hippano](http://hippano.tumblr.com/) for her support with beta and art!

Several lazy minutes will pass them by where he is very much awake, yet very much calm and content. His breath evens itself and under that touch, he's not much but a big puddle of tan and muscle and smile.

Sebastian never knew this about himself, that he wanted it so much, this affection he tries pulling out of what could be argued as a rather unruly source. Why on earth he chose Jim, that's what they'll ask someday; that's what anyone would ask. But he doesn't. He already knows the answer is too complicated and grand. _Why_ is rather unimportant. He chose Jim. He pursued him- through bite and broken bone and anger, rejection, mistrust, he pursued him until Jim chose him too. That's all that mattered.

Making some kind of noise that drags soft and low through his throat, Sebastian turns his cheek enough that his mouth stops being pressed to some part of Jim's skin, peering an eye open but seeing not much beyond pale landscape.

"We need a bath already." An amused mumble. It's hard to get a grasp on just how much of a roller coaster the last 24 hours has been, not unlike the day of their arrival. And he doesn't want to think about it because he's happy where he is- yes, _happy_ \- despite the precarious world he sinks himself into.

\---

To that, Jim hums and cuddles are over, hands coming around to push Sebastian off of him and climb over the lump of muscle to slide off the bed and pad his way over to the loo. It’s not 'them' that needs a bath, it's Jim. It's always Jim who suffers the brunt of the mess. In the washroom, Jim leans over the tub and turns on the tap, staring down at the porcelain basin starting to fill with warm water. It's going to sting to sit in, his brain supplies, but the ache will soon make way to ease for sore muscles. And it’s been proven tonight that a little pain leads to pleasure.

Stirring fingers in the water to make sure the temperature is settled, Jim shuts off the tap and fetches a cloth, wetting it and scrubbing off the bulk of the drying mess before finally setting it aside and sinking into the bath. Sure enough, it stings places that have never been stretched or penetrated before, but after the initial hiss, he calms down and just lets the warm water work its magic.

He curls up in a tight ball on the far end of the tub, and he'll likely stay there until the water cools, too lazy to do anything other than soak.

\---

There is definitely protest from Sebastian when Jim pushes him about to get up, but of course, he does not make any attempt to restrain the other boy from doing so. Lazily, he rolls himself over after Jim slides off the mattress, watching him cross the large bed chambers silently. The water runs and from here, it doesn't sound terribly different from the steady fall outside the windows.

With a drawn, heavy sigh, he finally drags himself out of the bed, lingering long enough to toss the lube bottle from the mattress into its drawer and gather up strewn about clothing. Leaving his own on the edge, he finds the shirt Jim had been wearing and carries it with him when he ducks into the loo to find the young Irishman curled up in the tub already. He smiles to himself, looping the shirt over the towel rack on his way closer. Sebastian crouches by the porcelain basin, reaching with good arm to lean weight against it and dip his fingers in, testing the water. He thinks he's worked something out about the other boy, but the blond keeps it to himself.

\---

Jim looks up as Sebastian enters, following the older boy with his eyes. Sebastian has sunken into silence once again, but Jim is used to that. He's one of the few people who doesn't annoy Jim with constant chatter. When the blond comes to crouch beside him, Jim pushes up slightly, catching the hand that tests the water and giving it a slight tug, indicating he wants the older boy to join him into the warm, liquid depths.

He scoots over towards the tap to make room for Sebastian, and then when the larger of the pair has settled into the tub, Jim crawls onto his lap and uses hands and warm water to scrub the broad plain of torso clean before settling down upon it in a lazy slouch. It’s not cuddles. Not exactly. It's more of Jim using Sebastian like a barrier between the cool basin and his damp skin. But Sebastian can think what he pleases about how he's chosen to sit. None of it changes the fact he's Jim's to use as the boy sees fit.

\---

He's been given permission by the tug of hand on hand, obliging when he stands up again to step into the tub and occupy the space Jim has made for him. Sebastian is tall and the stretch of his legs takes up the length of the old porcelain tub when he settles in the water, his cast arm resting on the lip and watching as Jim washes him clean before making a backrest out of him. He's fine with it, makes little to no speculations about why he has become a chair or whether Jim wants him close for other reasons. But Jim will have to put up with the arm that then insists on curling around his waist beneath the water's surface.

They've fallen into that quiet with which they communicate often. Sebastian does not consider this silence because the language they use is loud; it's in their bodies and their expressions and every minute gesture made. Silence is when they do not speak in any language, neither verbal nor physical. Silence is Jim's anger. It's exhaustion that tears between them. Silence is what lingered through much of their beginnings, when they dare only speak a few words- yes, even in that corporeal parlance. But this is not silence. It's comfortable, Sebastian thinks.

\---

Jim notices the arm curled round his waist of course, it's a familiar weight and he finds himself wondering just what Sebastian will do with the other hand in moments like these once it's healed. The thought brings his attention to the cast laying on the lip of the tub, littered with the sketch of a constellation and a memory that had almost been completely snuffed out from his mind this morning. But nothing truly escapes Jim, so he revisits that time of crackling fire and warmth, and thinks he may have found happiness as well, laced with the murder and destruction that it has become.

And Jim can never abide happiness.

He must push and seek to ruin it, because it's always better for himself to do such things rather than have others be the source for breaking frail emotions that have always been out of reach. Gradually, he'll work his way towards it. He always will. But for now, they are both content and there's been enough drama for the week that the need to press and push is sated.

Curiosity, not so much.

So silence is broken by a singular question, even though Jim already knows the answer, because no one performs that well their first time.

"Have you had your hand up many arses?"

\---

Impending storms are not a thing he considers. No point when they are even more fickle in prediction than the weather natural. So when Jim breaks their quiet with a question, Sebastian's pleasant recollection of events is broken with a chuckle.

"Mine, mostly." He misses no beat on admitting that and flinches no embarrassment about it. Pink tongue slips over his lips, catching the feel of his scar before it disappears again. Fingers softly tap the porcelain ledge, making nary a noise.

"There was an older boy at Eton, finished last year. He wasn't my first and I definitely wasn't his, but I knew him. Knew _about_ him. He took one look at me and said; this is going to take some time. So I watched him. Learned a lot."

\---

Jim listens to Sebastian talk and honestly, it is a surprise. He didn't think Sebastian would...well, be that adventurous. He turns around in Sebastian's lap and looks up at the older boy, eyes wide. He's still curious and now his hands reach up to touch the blond's face as he searches it for any more secrets that have been hidden from him.

"You'll teach me?" Jim asks, barely above a whisper. It’s new, this desire to please Sebastian. He wants to be better than all those boys at Eton, the sort who have made that school gain a reputation for this sort of thing.

Because it’s going to be a while before he's comfortable enough to take Sebastian. He's huge everywhere, and Jim's little hand had to strain to circle completely around its base. The thought of having that inside him makes Jim shiver and bite his lip. He's been forced to grow up so quickly, but in some ways, he's still nothing more than a child. And Sebastian is a man. There is a danger of the waning chasm growing between them.

\---

He's a bit surprised by the look Jim gives him, dark eyes wide and soaking up the washroom light. None so as his next question, which brings up his brows and makes him crack a smile.

"Of course."

The thought of Jim sprawling out, fucking his own fingers is... well, he needs to stop thinking about it because they've had quite an evening already and they're getting clean again. Jim doesn't make that easy, biting his lip like that. Sebastian's fingers float along the center of Jim's spine now that he's turned towards him, tilting his face into one of the hands which touches him.

"Anything you ask." And probably, some things he doesn't.

\---

A broad smile spreads over Jim's lips at Sebastian's reassurance, because yes, this is an area in which the blond excels at in comparison, along with the twitch of a trigger finger. Jim rubs his fingertips against the growth of stubble on the older boy's cheeks, and then arches up and presses a kiss against his mouth, because he's promised Jim anything and that always makes Jim feel giddy with power.

When the kiss breaks, Jim rocks forwards and presses his lips to Sebastian's ear, his words little more than a purr that rolls from his tongue in a thick, syrupy accent.

"I'll need more than just two fingers." Especially since Jim's fingers were considerably smaller than Sebastian's.

Jim drapes himself over Sebastian's torso, one hand stretching behind his neck to swirl his fingers innocently through the trim blond hair at Sebastian's nape. However, the other slides down between them, finding Sebastian's cock and placing his fingers down across it, measuring how many of the digits it would take to properly prepare himself.

\---

He's a sucker for those kisses and Jim probably knows that. If he was promised a kiss for every good thing he did, he'd do it, apparently not discounting murder. It's bad enough that the prospect- the suggestion that he might- will encourage him to do it. A dog in training, eager to please. But Sebastian doesn't know that about himself. Or maybe he does and he just doesn't acknowledge the fact he is utterly, without a doubt, past the point of no return when it comes to Jim.

Never mind. Kisses are good, he likes them, smiles into them, wants more but he isn't pushy because that might make them go away. And it's worth letting Jim move because he whispers in Sebastian’s ear on the matter of fingers and fucking and that image is back in his mind, vivid as ever. Jim arse up and face down on the sheets, writhing against his own slender digits and moaning- bloody fucking hell. Moran is biting his lip now.

And then Jim's hand slides between them without his immediate notice and he twitches beneath the fingers which lightly touch. A different feeling, being underwater, negating the difference in temperature between their bodies. His hand spreads out on Jim's spine and he resists his urge to pull him in. Sebastian sighs only a little.

"Gets difficult after three." But don't think about it, he tells himself.

\---

Jim is oblivious to the silent struggles of the boy he's made into a furniture, and a lover, and an odd mixture of the two. He focuses on his lower hand, stretching out fingers...and yes, it seems four is the number to strive for, especially with how much thicker Sebastian gets when he's hard and throbbing. Dark eyes flick up to regard Sebastian for a moment, and he's challenged Jim in that single sentence. The brunette brings up the four fingers and wriggles the digits with a determined arch of his brow.

There is nothing that is impossible to Jim, and certainly not this endeavor. Flicking water from his fingertips, he drags those four digits down the side of Sebastian's face, tapping each one individually in a lazy sonata across the blond's jaw.

"If it takes all five, I'll still manage."

\---

Just briefly his eyes were closed but when Jim's hand resurfaces from beneath the water, soft droplets falling back into the basin, they are open again and watchful of that indicative wiggle. He is not picturing all four, he isn't. How Jim would strain his arm and bend his body to reach all four and press inside and- he is. Not. Blue of undetermined shade slides to Jim's expression and he gives a bemused smile, minding not the digits which now tap a chiseled jaw that needs a shave.

"I know." Without hesitation, no mockery at all. If Jim says he's to do something, Sebastian has no reason in the world to believe he can't and won't until he changes his own mind about it.

"Nothing you can't." An addition, fingers creep a little higher over ridges of spine, leaving wet trails that slide down fair skin back to their source.

\---

Jim licks his lips, and they're inches...centimeters from Sebastian's own, a tilt of Jim's chin bringing them level as he sits perched upon his throne of flesh. His bare arse fits so nicely on the taut muscles of Sebastian's thighs and he's in no mind to move anytime soon.

Jim is well aware of the hold he's gripped tight and yet still he's squeezing.

"You'll watch, yes? Make sure I'm doing it right? Guide me to the right spots? Maybe even hold my wrist steady while I work my fingers in and out. You keep me wet and lubed up proper so everything goes smoooth~"

He nips at Sebastian's bottom lip and sits back, an innocent smile spreading his lips.

\---

Perfectly still, that's where he stays, because Jim is playing a familiar game that is almost predatory, as if he dares Sebastian to break. He could move, he could just barely bend his wrist and pin Jim to his chest and smash their mouths together but he won't and he doesn't, just letting his fingers trail back down the curvature of spine until they meet the water.

Dear unmerciful Christ. No upbringing, whether Christian or Catholic, could prepare you for the temptation that is his little Irish star. It's a bloody good thing he takes no stock in it or he'd damn himself on imagination alone. That voice is dripping honey and it burns through him in a way he can't stop, straight to the groin where nerves light up as if he hadn't already got off no time ago. And you can tell because he takes a breath and holds it, lips parted and blue half shaded by dark lashes.

When Jim pauses, all devilish words lingering between them, the blond exhales slow, steady, but his pulse is already rocketing off without him and in that hush of air is just a word. A name. Neither pleading or demanding nor desperate; just "Jim." As if that whisper alone could express how the other boy burrows under his skin.

"Yes. Yes." Alright, he's imagining it.

\---

Whether his name is a plea or a prayer, it makes him smile, a sinful grin that curves into a delightful ‘v’ as his moniker tumbles from Sebastian's mouth on a sigh. Of course Jim continues, because he is power hungry and dangerous and both things never bode well for Sebastian.

Or perhaps bode very well.

There's threat in those tensing fingers, so Jim eliminates it and simultaneously takes away Sebastian's anchor as he pulls Sebastian's hand into his two pale ones. He measures Sebastian's digits to his, and sure enough, three of the blond’s take the place of Jim's four.

"Fingers are nice for finding that sweet spot. They can wriggle and squirm until they find the perfect place to stroke." Jim sighs and shifts just barely on Sebastian's lap, sending a sinuous ripple down his pale torso.

"But your cock is so big and thick, I think it'd hit everything all at once."

Jim take Sebastian's hand and slips the tip of each finger, on by one in between his lips, then bobs down, slow and steady, tongue flicking out along pads of whorls of rough calluses before he pops back up with a satisfying slurp. His tongue flicks at the corner of his mouth, chasing the sensation of the stretch.

"Teach me to take it all."

\---

His hand is confiscated from its attendance and Sebastian watches as his fingers are measured against Jim's for comparison. He hadn't really noticed just how much smaller those hands were to his own, but he'll spend a quick minute considering how those pianist digits will perform. Jim is speaking and he has Sebastian's full attention just as always but this time….

If his brain were a light switch, someone just flickered it off and on. This is a sentiment reflected when he blinks, watching pretty lips move and hearing words and-- _bloody fucking Christ_ , he is saying that. It's not like any part of Jim he's seen yet, this soft and devilish side of him which talks freely of things that make grown men blush.

No, no, the bit about fingers- that was enough. But Jim isn't satisfied with enough, he has to push, or shift as it were, atop Sebastian's lap which is a growing hazard. When he continues, Sebastian can do little else but draw a not exactly steady lungful, heart racing to get the blood where it's going and there is no irony in the subject matter. Slowly, he licks his lips again, both sets of fingers twitching with the sincerest desire to react with more than expression and chemical churning but his hand has been surrendered and the other is completely useless to him.

It's a bit helpless. He could use physical force and take his hands back to do as he pleased but Sebastian remains willfully at the complete mercy of gentle touch and warm mouth and soft Irish lilt. He has no idea what his expression is but it falls into a description of lust and fascination. A tangible desire is written across his body with heavy lidded eyes and parted lips and an eager cock between their legs.

He's imagining more than fingers in that mouth. More than a couple digits inside of him. For a second, he closes his eyes and swallows but it doesn't help his breath falling heavy. He's flooded with thoughts of Jim and Jim's body and Jim's voice and that wonderfully salacious sound of suction sliding free when he pulls his fingers out-- _bloody hell_ there are not enough fucking swear words in any of his languages to express how badly he just wants to put his hands and his mouth on Jim but he runs through every single one of them and all he can come up with is another breathless exhale of the name- "Jim."

He wants that mouth so very badly that he sinks his teeth down into own lip to fight back the urge to take it.

\---

Jim is talking, endless talking, lips curving to form wicked words from a boy who is usually so silent. And yet all Sebastian can manage is a stutter of Jim's own name. The blond is obviously aroused, Jim can feel the urgent press between his thighs that tells him so. Sebastian is so utterly full of need; he's just come and yet here he is again, red blooded teenage male, eager and ready for another round.

But still he doesn't move to take, he hesitates and Jim wonders if perhaps now he's conditioned the blond _too_ well. Like a dog with a treat precariously balanced on its nose, waiting for a cue from its master. Well, even animals have their limits and Sebastian isn't far off from that right now. One should never provoke a wild beast, but when has Jim ever been one for rules?

Jim arches up, lips parting to hover open over Sebastian's trembling lips, but before they can touch, he's rocking back into Sebastian's lap, the soft curve of his arse rubbing down over the insistent erection burgeoning with every twist and shift of his hips.

"Is this how you'll take me that first time? Let me sink down over every inch, be in control as I stuff your thick cock up inside of me? Shall I ride you Sebastian? Face to face as I pant and moan, squirming helplessly as I impale myself again and again on your throbbing prick?"

Jim's whispering pure and utter filth now, and those whispers are echoes between the tiled walls and floor of the bathroom and no matter how softly he speaks, the words surround Sebastian. Jim releases Sebastian's hand because now he's got designs on slipping those damp fingers over the older boy's scruff covered cheeks, anchoring Jim as he grinds down against the stiffened member. Hard flesh slips between his arse cheeks and slides along the cleft between, wet and unhindered as the water slaps lazily against the sides of his thighs.

Another soft sigh, inches from Sebastian's mouth. "Or do you have something else in mind?"

\---

He's had fantasies like this, of Jim. Thoughts that kept him awake at night, kept him company in the shower, occupied empty space during the weekdays when he was unable to escape Eton. Yes, from the start, that very first kiss which would scar him lifelong, all he could think about was Jim. As active as his imagination is, it pales in comparison to the reality. Jim is so often quiet, in his own brilliant head, sharing little to nothing and yet here he is, speaking lecherous filth to Sebastian. Jim does sinful things to him, he allows this 45-nothing kilo boy rile him effortlessly like no one ever has.

Sebastian's self control almost vibrates him, but it's Jim's voice and his words that crawl down his spine. There's a sharp intake of air that breaks the hold of teeth when velvet skin rubs against his feverish arousal, skin slick against one another beneath the water that licks up their sides as it rocks between the porcelain walls in an almost calm motion. He is the absolute picture of temptation and Sebastian's fingers claw at the edge of the tub where his frustratingly pointless hand rests.

Jim relinquishes his restraint and the last syllable of his words enter the atmosphere in the very moment that arm snaps around Jim's tiny waist, jerking the other boy against his body and bruising their lips together when he takes the kiss he practically aches for. He arcs up into the slide of their bodies and his poor fingers make some use of themselves when that hand drags off the basin rim and dives into unruly dark fluff at the back of Jim's neck. He bites at plush bottom lip, letting it slide free of the pinch as he pulls away from the brunet's mouth.

"Jim" The first of utterances as he nips rounded chin, none too delicate as he crosses jawline. "Mein Sternchen."

His breath his hot, exhaling on Jim's skin in between the red blossoms he leaves freckled between fading past marks, pressing his nose and mouth against the corner of jaw where his salacious tone is right in the other boy's ear.

"I want you." His hand is sliding down Jim's back, diving under water, grabbing fine arse he squeezes and pulls into him, grinding them together. All that self control has dissolved like sugar in the water; he makes a fresh blossom of purple on Jim's neck and moves to the dip where shoulder meets.

"I want you in every way." And when he finishes his brief but sharp assault here, it's the collarbone, his hand spreading Jim's arse cheeks in a drag of fingers.

"I want to feel every inch inside of you." Another nip before he tilts his face up into the tender underside of Jim's chin. "On every surface. I want you just like this. I want you writhing on the bed. I want to bend you over of the desk. Pin you up against the walls. I want to hear you call my name."

He tilts his chin and finds Jim's lips again, but he only brushes his own against them, firm, wanting, desperate for him.

"I want you to tear me to shreds."

\---

Jim knew it was coming. Sebastian's calm couldn't last forever, even if he'd come less than an hour before. The older boy was a red blooded teenager after all, stamina he had in spades, and no doubt the amount of adrenaline coursing through his veins from this morning. So of course, with constant prodding and touching and the absolute vulgarities that spilled from Jim’s mouth -a mouth that is soon captured in a vicious kiss- all restraint Sebastian once had evaporates as he tries to devour Jim with gnashes of teeth and tongue.

A plastered hand buries in his hair and forces himself still, trapped under the attention of a man who has been pushed too far and now takes without thought to the consequences, even though he's been scarred and threatened so many times before. As teeth drag over his lips and pinch and tear, Jim whimpers, gasping an intake of air as Sebastian grazes over his skin with sharp, hungry teeth.

Sweet nothings go ignored to Jim's ears, because yes, he will always be Sebastian's star, but he is burning in those arms that have him bound tight. The blond continues to take, his mouth all over Jim like the boy's skin is made of a sweet elixir he cannot get enough of. But he is only Jim, poor gutter trash that has somehow managed to ensnare the interest of this boy who is so much more.

As Sebastian speaks, Jim nearly chokes on the air he tries to swallow down, that deep growl reaching into his very core and squeezing everything into a tight fist. The older boy takes control of Jim's body, spreading him open to make room for the drag of a thick shaft that nestles up close to Jim's abused hole and makes sure he hasn't forgotten the sting of the stretch visited upon it earlier.

Sebastian speaks of wants, but they sound more like needs to Jim, as if every action Sebastian describes is something he simply must have. He wants to violate Jim's vulnerable body in every way he can manage, because he is a slave to it and he admits as much when it’s not Jim he wants to tear to shreds, but the exactly opposite. Sebastian is already so severely unraveled, what would be left if the boy rakes his claws even further into that flesh and ripped?

Jim dips his head down weakly, lips moving against Sebastian's in the faint murmur, half drunk on power and lust.

"I'll ruin you..." He promises before sealing their lips together, no hesitation as he slips his tongue down into his hunter's mouth and tastes the desire that burns within him. The rock of his body is controlled by Sebastian's grasp, but he can excel here, sucking tongue and grazing teeth before he pulls away to swallow another deep breath. "Slice you to ribbons and tie bits of you around my fingers. I'll never beg, Sebastian...but you will."

\---

What were the words said?

What is a soul worth if it is not devoured.

Jim promised to take everything, to sting, to consume, to ruin. Sebastian wants nothing left but the parts of him that were Jim's. The parts that are connected to him, that are possessed. It is his noumenon, something he cannot understand but he knows it in the core of himself, in his blood and bone. He is nothing if not Jim's. Just another rich Englishman with no plans, no goals of his own; only the borrowed future that was decided for him.

He draws in ragged breaths between their mouths, stealing the air which Jim gives him, still hungry for the kiss as their bodies slide together frictionless. Against swollen lips, his moan gets lost in the exhale, fingers dragging down the back of Jim's head to the nape of his neck and pressing against his shoulder blades. It's a slap of water that emphasizes the sharpness with which he pulls Jim against him in rocking motion, arching up, cock sliding unabashed against soft arse. It's still too soon, he can't have Jim entirely, not the way he wants, the way he needs, the way Jim whispers so sinfully.

"Make me." This boy who has become everything, the words he gives him are a challenge and a plea, an unhindered desire to fight and give in.

\---

Sebastian really should know better than to say things like that, to egg on Jim. He should know better, because Jim can be so very tortuous. He's in much better control of himself then Sebastian ever has been and ever will be. It's not his cock that's rubbing, achingly hard and eager. Jim can make him beg, and it's as easy as leaning back away from Sebastian, pulling his body up and away as he tilts up on his knees and pushes onto his feet, water streaming down the length of his lean body in rivulets.

"Let's start now, then. Hands off, 'Bastian. Be a good boy and wash up...and keep those greedy fingers off your cock or they'll be the only thing you feel for the rest of the week."

His lips curve into a devious grin. He shifts to climb out of the tub, dripping water all the while and twisting his hips to brush himself across the blond, smirking even wider. He really won't be surprised if Sebastian forgoes the begging and tackles him to the tile floor, but that's still Jim winning, either way.

\---

He should have and yet that didn't stop him.

Sebastian makes no effort to hold Jim back when the other boy moves, immediately relenting the curl of his arms, one sliding down half circled around Jim's pale thigh as he stands. Droplets roll down Jim's ivory skin and it's water in the desert to his hungry eyes, small streams colliding with his arm and tumbling over the tan skin.

Sebastian expels air, that kind of huffing sigh that expresses disappointed grief. He has no real idea what he's just done, what Jim will do and in that same beat of his twisted heart, it excites him. Jim gives him a order, or maybe it's better to call it a choice of torture; hands off now, or you'll be hands off for a long time. There are six days left of their holiday. Six days Jim could completely torment him and this was evidence plenty of how the Irish boy could rile him into desperation. He's literally dangling himself in front of Sebastian just now and there was never a challenge the blond didn't seize when it swayed in front of him. He lies to himself about his confidence in this one.

Jim moves, sliding out of the large basin and brushing past him, Sebastian's arm sliding free of that milky thigh as blue eyes follow him like a starving hawk that spotted a mouse. It's an outright groan that he breathes, leaning his shoulder into the cool edge of porcelain. His plastered arm almost dips down into the tub but he catches it before it hits the water, resting the limb on the edge where he twists his torso and presses against the wall of the bath, watching the other boy move while trying not to look like he was already about to- yes, tackle is a good word- tackle him.

He presses his mouth against the cold surface, a kind of provocative grin getting half hidden as he tries to calm breath and blood and aching arousal while being utterly unable to stop watching the source of it. Sebastian bites softly as the porcelain edge of the tub his mouth is pressed against. It doesn't help.

\---

Jim has fully climbed out of the tub now, and he juts his hips out just so, already the skin is beginning to show evidence of bruising from fingers and mouth. His fingers swoop up into thick inky hair, and he sweeps it back flat against his skull, slicking it so the water runs away from his face. The boy gives one final look to Sebastian, expression blank as ever, as if all those gasps and eager rolls of his hips in the tub have left him completely unaffected, even if that pretty pink cock is half hard between his legs.

One last look and then he leans over and turns the tap back on, spraying Sebastian with frigid water before he's turned around and padding back to the bedroom as the blond thrashes around in the torrent of icy liquid.

Jim roots around older boy’s closet, finding another large t-shirt for some band he's never heard of, and probably wouldn't like anyways. He tugs it over his damp hair, ruffling it slightly, and let's it fall to mid thigh, then heads back over to the bed with a frown. It's a mess, so he starts pulling off ripped bedclothes and tosses them to the floor. Even with just a mattress and duvet, it's nicer than what he's got at home, so Jim just climbs up onto the bed and tugs the blanket up under his arm, not draping it over himself, but rather clinging to the material as a replacement for his usual bed companion.

One leg juts up higher, pulling the shirt up in a tangle over his waist. His arse is bare to the fireplace warmth of the room in its obvious position, an inviting spread that Sebastian is not allowed to touch.

\---

You can call it a yelp, the noise he makes. Suddenly jolting in the tub of water that sloshes around him, Sebastian clings to the side of the basin with both arms and the drop of his blond head. He gives an agonized groan as his body curls up and tenses, hissing with almost pain from the sharp contrast of icy water on overly warm skin. Yet the sound that follows after Jim's exit is something of a strangled laugh.

It's a minute or so of shocked paralysis before he can move, reaching over to strike the flow of water off. He claws the stop open to let the water drain and sits eyes closed and heavy, controlled breathing while it begins to drain. When he opens them, blue glares down accusingly between his arms and the basin, at his persistent half erection before getting up and trailing water past the bathmat to fetch a dry towel.

He takes a minute to stare at himself in the mirror after dabbing off and wrapping the towel around his waist, rubbing at his stubbled jaw and briefly feeling the scar on his lip before he pushes a hand through utterly tousled hair and leaves. He's stopped in the bedroom doorway by Jim on the bed and all he can do is sigh pitifully and lean against the frame, inwardly dejected because this is going to take every ounce of his willpower. And Jim will not play fair by any means. But a breath of sharp air pulls in his stupid determination. _Don't look- don't look at him._ He dresses, for the second time today, casting glances at the bed despite himself.

_Stop. Don't look._

He moves across the room to the edge of the bed and pauses just... _Don't_. He isn't there. No milky thighs, no soft skin, no cute little arse you had your fingers in- bloody hell.

He's licking his lips again, running tongue over the scar, feeling it acutely under the buds. His sheets are on the floor, but does he care?

\---

As Sebastian comes to stand beside the bed, Jim turns his head and presses his cheek into the mound of pillows. Dark eyes swallow up the lazy flickers of firelight as he stares up at Sebastian, still damp and delectable from the bath, and so wonderfully antagonized. Of course the man is staring at him, so large and imposing to anyone but Jim. He's an impossible creeper, but he's Jim's creeper and the younger boy has grown fond of him.

Jim lazily turns onto his back, and the shirt has ridden up there as well, framing the curve of a hip, somehow angular and soft at the same time. There's a trail of bite marks running down his inner thigh, Jim hasn't bothered with any pants and probably won't for the rest of the week.

With a hum, he draws a hand up and points to the floor, to the soiled lump of torn sheets.

"I made you a bed. Sleep well, Sebastian."

\---

Oh, he is nothing but a devil in adorable flesh, is he not. That shirt riding high on hips and leaving him exposed and soft and so very, _very_...

Sebastian contents his storming chest and half arousal with the possibly foolish idea that Jim will be his. That softness and deviant grins and breathless moans and Gaelic babble belong to him and no one else. He can wait, he lies to himself, because Jim is his no matter now or later. Never mind that the idea makes it harder not to touch.

The blond turns a glance to the floor where his bedclothes lay abandoned for their ruin and he gets a half amused mockery of disbelief when eyes slide back to Jim, a brow raising. But he says nothing, only stiffens his lips in a purse and shrugs with a nod of his head as if to accept his fate and his challenge. He did bring this on himself, not understanding that Jim was the master of games.

Pushing away from the bed with the thigh that has been leaning into the edge of his mattress, he turns to fetch his leather journal, unwrapping the tie and cracking it open. He sits himself down right beside the bed, using it to lean against as he props the quarter filled book open on his upturned knee.

Distraction. He'll write and that will take his mind off of ache and want. Never mind the subject matter that will undoubtedly be tainted in these things.

\---

Jim is indeed a master of games, because he was a master of going without. It’s not the same with Sebastian, who has been spoiled all his life in every aspect. Especially this one, where boys and girls alike flock to him with a snap of his fingers. Jim is most likely the only person to ever tell Sebastian no, in any capacity.

Because Sebastian has never listened to no. And no is probably the only reason he's still even interested, so Jim must constantly keep saying it because it's the string that binds them together. Eventually that string will snap, like Sebastian snaps, because no one can stand to hear no forever.

But for now, it's just enough to trick Sebastian into staying a bit longer. The names and promises are sweet, but there will be an end to them because Sebastian has already made it painfully obvious what he really wants. It’s the same thing he'd wanted since the beginning, to utterly possess Jim in any way he can, because for the first time someone had resisted his charm.

It doesn't matter how much Jim's heart has been tangled up in the process, he doesn't trust that traitor of a muscle, not when it overrides his brain.

For now though, he lays silently on the bed and lapses into that very mind, because he really doesn't have to do anything and he's certainly not going to sleep. Silence stretches between them like a yawning chasm and even though he has specifically told Sebastian not to write about him, he knows the boy is doing just that, no matter how cleverly he tries to disguise it.

\---

Writing calms him in a way little else does. It takes his mind out of the present and turns it into threads he weaves together on the pages, just lead scratching away on dead wood to record thoughts he intended never to read again.

The pencil drags in heated strokes across several pages and in that time, the rain ebbs to dripping, the thunder dispersed long since. He writes of marble statues, cool and smooth perfection standing amongst planes of heat and molten earth which lick hungrily at its feet. He writes of rain which falls in the evenings, cooling warm pavement. Of snow that trickles down from mountain tops in streams which breathe life into the forest that worship their peaks. He writes of kings and mentions no champions, of stars that fill the sky and yet pale beneath the glimmer of one. He weaves a story of fire which consumes all and ends it with a prose of self reflection from the ash it leaves behind.

And eventually, Sebastian falls asleep.

He has shifted many times in his comfort and his pencil gently drops onto the page beneath his poised hand, cloth folded over plaster wrist he uses as a pillow while laid out on his stomach across the discarded bedclothes. The script is less controlled with fading consciousness and the last letter drags a jagged line where the pencil collapsed:

_"I will be ash._

_Made of broken bone and tempered metals ground together to finest dust_

_Left by flame which consumes a graceless heaven it cares not to breathe_

_Once a weapon to wield against the unruly, now but soot that stains perfection_

_Nothing more than fuel to feed radiance of which greatness is born_

_And still I lay but briefly in the arms of fire, my purpose never more clear_

_I am ash."_

\--

Jim is restless. He is a master of games and yet master of none, because he doesn't like how it unfolds when he ends up alone in the bed, without the warmth of another pressed to him. How dependent he's become of those arms wrapped around him. How he lies and lies to himself and says he doesn't care, doesn't want.. but it's impossible to stay away from the desire that's constantly creeping up, marching down his spine and making him shift and toss.

Finally, he rolls over quietly, to peer over the edge of the bed. Sebastian has fallen asleep, uncaring to his punishment, uncaring to his lack of Jim. The sight brings a scowl to the boy's face and he contemplates slipping out of bed by way of using Sebastian's spine as a stepping stone.

But then he catches sight of the journal, left open with its nonsense scrawled over the pages.

Except it's not nonsense. It’s prose and poetry that rivals many a great author, and though he hates seeing any part of him put to paper, the way Sebastian describes him without describing him is undeniably flattering. Moran is a bastard. This is surely a type of warfare Jim has not counted on. But regardless, Jim wants nothing more than to be the cause for that pencil tip scratching along the paper, so he tugs the duvet off the bed and drags it behind him, silently dropping to a kneel at Sebastian’s side. Jim tucks himself against Sebastian's body and it's not as good as being curled in his arms, but he has warmth radiating into him and he traps it under the covers as he listens to the man breathe and exist; and eventually, he falls asleep as well.

\---

There's a time when Sebastian stirs, because sleeping in this position is not natural to him and neither is the hard floor above which covers are slim. He wakes with a dent in his cheek and soft imprints of teeth in the silky flesh. Sebastian lifts his head, a mess of unstyled blond that is acutely aware of the warmth hovering around him, just as well the little body pressed close. He's careful when he looks, lifting the good arm to see Jim curled up just there on the uncomfortable ground with him.

Tiredly, he smiles to himself and watches for an extended moment before nudging the journal a bit further from his head's resting place. With no permission to lift Jim, he has but one option he relies on, shifting slowly and carefully so that he may curl his arm around the other boy beneath the duvet. This is no loss for either party, more of a brief truce in the wee hours, like two armies resting and collecting their dead, even though it's a war he does not seek to win. The suggestion that he could go without Jim is utter lunacy and it is not so simply stated to mean in the carnal way.

He stills, cheek on his covered cast arm yet again and eyes fall shut with a last longing look at the Irish brunet. He's asleep in moments, oblivious to the hour and anything that doesn’t concern sharing covers with his little star.


	19. Bad Boyfriend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's wild, the way you tease me. 
> 
> The story of Moriarty and Moran, from the very beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This will be updated every Saturday.**
> 
> **Happy Valentine's Day~!**
> 
> We must thank our darling [Hippano](http://hippano.tumblr.com/) for all her artwork and beta.  
> And many thanks go out to our guest editor [Bizarreserenity](http://bizarreserenity.tumblr.com/).  
> 

It's early morning when Jim wakes and finds himself nestled under an arm, which is breaking the rules a bit, but Jim will forgive his trespasses because he's the one who snuggled down to rest his head beside the hulking blond. He knows it'll be ages before Sebastian will properly rouse himself from sleep, so he wriggles free and pads off to the toilet to relieve himself.

After washing up, he leaves Sebastian to his prolonged sleep, and heads downstairs in search of something to nibble at, convinced the rest of the house is asleep as well, since it’s still dark and raining. He raids the fridge, finding an apple, and munches on it as he wanders the halls, a different place entirely without the light of day. He stops before a study, obviously belonging to Sebastian's father and wanders in, curious to see what sort of man commands this sort of wealth and power. He knows vague things from Sebastian's writing and he knows he already hates the man as much as the blond, and he's never met him. Yet. 

Apples remind him of arsenic and it’s a shame he doesn't have enough of the seeds to poison the man away from the teen’s life. But the idea is fleeting and he dismisses it, fingers dragging over liquor bottles...it’s obvious he's very fond of brandy. There are polished canes standing unused behind the desk, and a glance into the small adjourning loo shows a bevy of untouched prescription pill bottles for various ailments the lord of the manor must refuse to acknowledge he needs. There are some powerful narcotics in these little plastic bottles. Some of them even make arsenic look like sanding sugar by comparison. Silence is broken by another crunch of the apple he chews and Jim continues along, discovering more of the castle as he's left to entertain himself.

\---

The house is dreadfully quiet on a Sunday night, lights are flicked off and only a few small lamps remain to illuminate the way down corridors, rooms drenched in pitch shadow. Once upon a time this might have been a place where family of the name Moran roamed. Where four generations of children played or fathers worked and mothers tended social gatherings, but this generation has left it desolate. If Augustus Moran has siblings, which he factually does, there is no mention and no sign of them once being here. For all the decor which is abundant and accumulated, even updated with the technology of years gone by, all picture frames have been taken, hidden away somewhere. There isn't a single one which reflects even the heir; the one sleeping on the floor of his bedroom.

Augustus' study is decorated such as one might expect an old Englishman's to be. Trophies from hunting exploits and bottles of liquor sit amongst the books and files and ledgers. Souvenirs of places he has been without his only son; old swords he probably doesn't know proper use of; and not least, memoirs of his time as a soldier and an officer; a family history of which is the only reflection left in framed medals and uniform decorations.

Every other room seems left in a state of 20 years ago, with flickers and signs of the 8 years past since they were last lived in. You can almost see remnants of more recent life in the more modern additions; telephones of this decade and a television not so horribly dated, to a pillow or drapery or perhaps just a brass fixture which has yet to tarnish in age. But it is all kept well and dusted weekly, so only a thin layer ever seems to settle to the unobservant eye. There is only one room in the entire house of doors which is locked and it is that of Sir Augustus' bedroom. Even the old room of yellows and whites which sits across the hall from Sebastian's door remains open and frozen in time from nearly a decade ago.

Ghosts seem to live here in these halls, but they are neither ancient nor are they imposing. If you blink, you may very well miss their presence entirely.

Sebastian sleeps for a while longer but the floor is uncomfortable and Jim has left him, so he does not stay that way for as terribly long as he might in his own bed.

\---

Jim has explored as much as he cares to before daylight begins to break through the windows and the faint sounds of a house stirring to life can be heard. He tosses his apple core in the rubbish and heads back up the stairs. Once he returns to Sebastian's room, he sees the boy in some semblance of awake and heads over with a determined gait to drop down into the blond's lap before he can fully rise.

Pale face tilts up to inspect the now several day old stubble gracing Sebastian's face, eyes traveling the length of the jaw in silent approval. The sunburn has faded off his own cheeks but there is no hint of tan; Jim doesn't tan. He burns, or he is pale. London weather suits him this way, but then again, so does Dublin.

Jim has decided on their plans for the day and as un-Jim-like as they may be, they are designed to prolong Sebastian's punishment.

"Take me on a date today."

\---

Sebastian has woken to find himself alone on the floor and there is no evidence lingering that he had not dreamt his company. His only motivation for siting mostly upright is the scour of bleary blue across the room in search of his missing star, before he must reach up and rub at his eyes to clear them of this disorient. Suddenly, the boy he had not found at a glance appears and he just barely manages to lean back enough to accommodate the sudden weight dropped into his lap with a quiet grunt.He hasn't the sense yet to wonder where he was off to, neither would he have been concerned. Nowhere in this house was off limits except the locked room even he did not tread into. He's being stared at for the moment and he can vaguely return the favor with a half slept smile. He almost, _almost_ moves his arm around the small body, but he remembers just in time that he is not supposed to be touching, night notwithstanding.

Jim gives him an order.

Sebastian could almost convince himself he's still asleep, blinking, eying Jim for a moment.

"A date?" He repeats in that morning gravel, making sure he heard correctly. For a moment, he looks confused at himself, brows furrowed and his tone discovering of truth. "I've never been on a _date_ before."

\---

"Congratulations, neither have I." It's odd, isn't it? They've been sleeping together both in the carnal and resting sense, and have pledged souls and bodies, but the pair of them have never been on a date. Though really, Jim would like to be Sebastian's first something, so the idea that he gets this is enough to make him mildly content with being denied so many other things. Sebastian takes the title of every single one of Jim's firsts, so really, it’s only fair that Jim gets something in return.

He clambers out of the older boy's lap, not without a flash of thigh and buttock just before his face, and pads on over to the wardrobe to begin searching through Sebastian's clothing and find something he deems appropriately date worthy. Of course, nothing Jim has will be good for much, all he has if Sebastian's hand-me-downs. As he pulls down a pressed suit, he sighs and runs a hand along the lapels, then looks over at the still sleepy blond.

"And you're going to buy me a date outfit. And we'll have lunch and go to the cinema. A proper date."

\---

He's still sluggish but he doesn't miss the hint of pale skin nor the idea that he was sitting bare in his lap. Sebastian sighs softly and rubs his face again, trying to refresh his brain on its determinations. Jim disappears in his wardrobe and comes out with something Sebastian has not worn in a year or so but he does remember it- or rather, the acquisition of it. His father’s insistence, a dinner party with which his son would attend to show up the sons of his father’s colleagues. Or whatever the bloody hell. He remembers it was awfully close to his father sounding proud, until Sebastian ran his mouth and went back to Eton with bruises.

Never mind memories. He still sits on the floor. "You _are_ the boss."

And there is no sarcasm there, only the truth of it. He reaches over and fingers his journal closed, dragging it into his lap to be tied shut.

\---

Jim lays out Sebastian's clothing on the bed, but it’s still early and there is no need to get dressed just yet. Surely Sebastian will want to eat breakfast and Jim has plans for that too.

He walks over and bends at the waist, the oversized shirt collar sliding down his shoulder and creating a peep tunnel down his torso. He takes Sebastian's journal from him and flicks out a finger, tracing down the older boy's rough cheek, because there is no rule about keeping his hands to himself.

"And I'm going to give to a shave. Make you presentable."

Because having Jim press a blade to your neck is something you shouldn't be excited about, unless you were Sebastian.

\---

If the idea makes him at all nervous, it does not show in Sebastian's face when that finger slides against rough skin and delegates another fraction of his day. Rather, tongue peeks out and wets his lips, flicking across scar and it's obvious he's trying not very hard to keep his eyes from wandering. And that's probably what Jim wants.

His chin tilts with the touch as if drawn by it and he firmly fixates his eyes on the dark pair which set behind dark circles that tell of his poor sleeping habits.

"As you wish."

Should he be worried? Should that frighten him? Because it doesn't, not even when the last time a blade was at his throat was the threat of slicing it to ribbons. And maybe Sebastian was a fool but he held a feeling of security thinking Jim was fond of him- and that he hadn't incurred that wrath today. Slowly he exhales.

\---

Jim flicks his fingers down the length of Sebastian's jaw, across his throat as if posing to slice it open. Sebastian would agree to anything and Jim wonders if he will ever hear no out of the boy's mouth. It seems unlikely. As you wish is a broad statement, for Jim wishes for many things. And it seems likely that they are obtainable as long as he's with Sebastian.

"Would you like to eat first? In case I do happen to slit your throat. Can't imagine it'd be easy swallowing with your larynx exposed."

Jim straightens and carries the leather over to the the shelf above Sebastian's desk, stretching up on tip toes to push it up beside its companions. As he does so, the shirt rides up to the very tops of his thighs, and he makes no effort to tug it back down, lingering as he draws his fingers over the spines of the journals, then slides back onto his feet and pads over to the blond, waiting for his answer.

\---

Lips part to answer but the sound doesn’t quite make it out, just air and then pause. His eyes trace over little curves of soft skin clinging too tightly to bone and how at every opportunity, more of it becomes exposed. And even though he knew what Jim's body looked like, there is still something absolutely salacious about the blossoms of soft pinks and purples on those slender thighs; his marks. Maybe someone else would not find Jim inexplicably alluring but those people were not Sebastian Moran.

The blond snaps his jaw shut before Jim turns around, pressing his lips together. What was the question?

Bloody hell this was going to take all of his willpower today and he has just barely summoned it out from the fog of sleep. Jim is in full force, in a way he has never seen the other boy. It's fucking maddening. Now, he swallows, blue trailing back upward from bare toes just balancing that minuscule weight.

"What?" Food. **Food,** Moran. "Yes."

\---

Jim tilts his head with a smile and it's sweet, as he flicks a hand out towards the loo to indicate Sebastian should take care of himself before they head downstairs for breakfast. While Jim is waiting, he gets a pair of boxers to spare the rest of the household when they head downstairs. He ties the edge of the waistband in a knot so they fit somewhat and drapes the shirt back over.

\---

Sebastian finally gets up off the floor.

The momentary break he gets while relieving himself is enough to convince his blood to calm back down and he splashes himself with a palm full of cold water before he returns to the room to be led down to the kitchens. Which is strange, because he lives here and yet falls into step so easily as if he doesn't know the way. Just as well, because he is still trying to wake himself fully and cold water on his face alone only does so much to startle his system into work mode.

\---

Once Seb is finished, Jim leads him down to the dining room and sits him at the table, then bustles into the kitchen to attempt to make a cup of coffee himself. He tugs down mugs and takes cream and sugar to add to his own. He licks cream off the tip of his spoon and then pours the freshly brewed coffee into the mug as he's seen the older boy take it before.

He brings both mugs over to the table and hands Sebastian his, then slides down into his lap to blow at the steam rising from his own cup. He's not going to attempt breakfast though. There is a cook for that.

\---

While sitting at the table, with Jim making coffee around Aveline who keeps chat to bare minimum and goes about making breakfast, Sebastian tries to sort out what exactly is going on. And whether or not anything is actually going on at all since it's entirely possible he is simply dazed by morning wake and imaginative. Maybe this is simply Jim being master of the game Sebastian is definitely losing.

He takes two sugars in his coffee, whether that amounts to cubes or spoonfuls; two always seems right. With coffee offered to him, his large hands swallow up the mug between them, warmth on his skin as he sips. It makes him exhale nasally in what sounds like relief. Over the rim, he eyes Jim as if trying to read him.

\---

Jim lets the mug warm his hands and he leans back against Sebastian like a chair. He had all but ignored Aveline; Jim is fickle at best and the cook has burned a bridge there is no hope of repairing. Jim huffs at the steam once more, but has no designs on drinking his concoction, even though he wasted plenty of effort to make it the perfect pale shade of tan to match Sebastian’s skin tone. It is meant as a hand warmer for the chilly morning, and little more than that.

Jim licks his lips and tilts his head back, staring at Sebastian from this semi upside down position. "Is it good?" The question is soft, a whisper, as if he's worried that he's ruined the beverage irrevocably. Jim isn't much for making beverages, he drinks water from the tap mostly, or the bottled juices from school.

\---

"Yes." Comes the simple answer from behind the lip of china. Positioning makes him switch only to his good hand while the ill one tries to find a place it's allowed to rest that isn't breaking unspoken rules of not touching- which obviously only apply to Sebastian. Funny though, that he still gets to enjoy the other boy being close, but he'll indicate no such thing that it might stop it immediately.

Coffee, the warmth and steam and the placebo effect of caffeine in his system, have stirred him a little more awake now. He gingerly sips again, but it remains rather hot with no milk to cool it, so he blows softly and interrupts the quiet rush of air with a question.

"Is that what we are? Dating."

And even though he says it gently, as he seems to put together the words used and the plan of their day, a brow twitches and he immediately wonders if he's allowed to ask that so forwardly.

\---

At that, Jim stiffens. As if that's perhaps a step too far. That Jim is alright for fucking but dating is out of the question. That now Sebastian is awake, he realizes how ridiculous the request is. Jim rolls porcelain between his palms, weighing his options. What does Sebastian want to hear? Jim is his star but those are words only murmured when Sebastian's about to come, where words and sentiments can’t be trusted because they are as fleeting as the pleasure achieved from mouths and hands and soft skin.

He sucks at his bottom lip, then sets down his mug on the table so he can turn around and face Sebastian properly, folding his legs to tuck under his arse. His answer will either get him laughed out of the manor in shame, or make Sebastian very, very regretful of the challenge he's decided to take.

"We're going on a date. So yes. That's what boyfriends do, isn't it?"

\---

This pause, the one that weighs between them; he can't see Jim's expression really but he can read his physical language. When Jim is angry, things happen suddenly; swift and merciless. When the strike is impending, when he schemes, he's coated in a kind of sweetness, a sluggish sort of threat like a snake slithering towards prey. When Jim is surprised, when he's debating his answers, he tenses and stills and Sebastian is never sure whether he's considering his own reactions or gauging the one he'll receive.

Jim is thinking.

Then he turns and Sebastian tries not to hold his breath when he's looked at, listening carefully for the words used. Except the straightforward answer to a straightforward question isn't what he's expecting and he can't control his immediate expression of both confusion and astonishment.

Boyfriend. That is the word he uses. It sounds juvenile, like it doesn't belong in a description about either of them. Too soft a word; Boyfriend. Sebastian tries to count all of the ways that word has ever been used with regards to him and nearly every time, it's some kind of joke. A mockery most people put on about his lack of loyalty to any one person. Jim isn't a person though, he's Jim. A bright, burning star that all his missing devotion has been placed into. And it isn't really ridiculous, is it? They've courted, haven't they? Maybe not in the ordinary way people do but in their twisted right. They've been spending time together- on holiday even- they've fooled around and slept together, shared intimate details- Sebastian's mostly- even donned nicknames. They murdered a man for bloody sake- again that was largely Sebastian. He hadn't thought about a label, a name for what this was. It just was and he liked it that way. Being Jim's. How do you put a name on _being_ someone's?

Boyfriend.

He searches the Irish boy's face as if he's trying to work out whether he's being serious, but he already knows that Jim is not one for making jokes unless they are morbid sarcasm of _half truths. self implemented lobotomies_. He recalls.

Sebastian opens his mouth and takes a breath but comes up short for another moment. He has no idea how long this silence has gone on between them, he's lost track of the minutes ticking by.

"It is... I think." Actually, he doesn't know the first thing about boyfriends. Only the expectations of girls and not by firsthand experience. Mostly teenage whining and stupid cinema he's watched. "It's also new."

And his voice falls quiet when it adds on the sentiment. None surprising if he's never even been on a proper date, right?

Sebastian chews on his lip with the tip of his teeth. He's watching Jim still, but when the realization spreads, it's fast, starting in a corner of his mouth and sliding across his face in a crooked grin. Just like that, he shakes the stun. Absolutely, yes. He leans forward a little and the word feels a bit funny on his tongue.

"And what were to happen if I kissed my _boyfriend_ right now?"

\---

Jim's forehead furrows as Sebastian responds with an expression of confusion. As if no such thought has passed his mind. That Jim is simply a naive little creature he's strung along this far, a play thing to bring home for the holiday to stave off boredom. That the concept of them actually being anything concrete and titled is ridiculous and Jim is ridiculous for even bringing it to mention.

There's too many minutes pause, as if Sebastian's trying to think of something really scathing to quip, and Jim is no longer stiff as he's preparing to climb out of Sebastian's lap and head for the door and foot it back to London, already calculating how long it will take and which paths and shortcuts would be most beneficial.

But as a leg begins to unfurl from beneath him, Sebastian finally speaks and Jim stills again, bottom lip quivering in the slightest frown. He's gauging the words for mockery, and really there's only astonishment, which really isn't that great either. But then Sebastian is smiling his idiot's grin, and seems so pleased with himself that it deserves a shove in its own right.

The older boy leans forward and all of the squirming insides within Jim tell him to flee, but he stands (or rather, sits) his ground.

"Then you'd be breaking the rules."

He answers in a quick rush of words that make his accent thick and blends them all into one long syllable.

\---

For a moment, Sebastian looks as though he is honestly contemplating those consequences, weighing the pros and cons of his options. His lips purse and he slowly gives a single nod, as if coming to a decision.

"I'll save it then."

He leans back and his fingers, set still wrapped around his warm mug as it rests on the edge of the table, yes those fingers tap against the china as if to rid his energy. Which doesn't really work because all he wants to do is snog the adorable Irish bastard and there is no outlet for that except doing so. His plastered arm rests on the chair side and he keeps those digits firmly closed in on his half-covered palm because if he doesn't, he's definitely going to break the rules of touching. All that's left is the expression of unadulterated adoration when he smiles like a fucking idiot at Jim.

Boyfriend. It's stupid really, it's just a word. But for some reason, after the shock of terms and labels so forthright has worn off, all that's left is a pleased little feeling in his chest that makes him want to kiss this precious little star in his lap. His little star. He couldn't tell you why, it's just a word. People can fake words. But it doesn't feel that way. And maybe that's just fine manipulation, but he falls for it, utterly.

"After our date."

As if he knows he won't last the day through. Sebastian sits back slowly and he's got eyes for nothing but the brunet in front of him.

\---

 _Hmm._ Jim tilts his head just so, like a bird of prey watching a rabbit struggle down the field and contemplating if it’s worth the effort for a meal. Sebastian seems pleased now, but not pushed enough to go breaking rules. Not that Jim could really ever prevent him from breaking them, could prevent anything from happening that Sebastian wants. But he can certainly disappear afterwards. And that's enough to stay Sebastian's hands in this mock game centered around a challenge that Jim's not really even sure how it came to be made in the first place.

Oh. Yes. Sebastian said Jim couldn't make him beg.

The blond has done his own damage sabotaging Jim's ideal, both last night with the journal, and this morning, with that ridiculous question of whether they were dating or not. Really, Jim was just furthering the game, and somehow its blown up in his face. No matter. It always works to his advantage in the end.

He ignores that sappy smile and leans up, warm breath coiling against Sebastian's ear.

"If you last that long."

Jim slides back down and twists around as Aveline brings a single plate to the table, piled high with a meat and cheese filled omelette, fried potatoes, and a small fruit crepe on the side. Jim sinks into his statue-like silence when she's in the room, ignoring her like he does most of the house staff, until she's disappeared again. Then, he picks up the single pair of utensils and carves out a section of the folded egg, spearing it on the end of the fork and turning it around to feed Sebastian from the tines.

\---

Sebastian has no idea what's going on in Jim's head, he never does. The other boy looks at him and all he can do is guess and read beyond the expression and maybe he's wrong, maybe he's right, maybe he's damn well delusional. A smile lingers in the corner of his mouth when Jim whispers to him and as he pulls away, the air leaves him in a quiet, agreeing word; "If."

Aveline comes and goes and Sebastian spares her polite greetings when Jim does not. Alone again, he's presented another new task and this one makes brows raise and teeth peek out as he laughs softly. Feeding him?

"Am I not allowed to touch my fork, either?" He asks jokingly, but opens that too wide mouth anyway with expectation to take what is offered, still an idiot with a grin, even when chewing closed mouth.

\---

"The fork isn't me, you great big dolt." Jim says with only the greatest of affection. He drags the fork away and moves to carve a piece of crepe next, for himself, eating it far more delicately than Sebastian is wolfing down the omelette, licking syrup from the tine and sucking and the polished silver before he moves to spear a bit of potato and offers it up to Sebastian. His lips part and he stretches his jaw wide, tongue flicking at the corner of his mouth to catch a bit of stray confectioner's sugar.

"Open wide." He coos, before popping the bit of starch and salt into Sebastian's mouth. He continues this, feeding Sebastian bit by bit, pausing every few minutes to allow him a swallow of coffee before returning to the task of eating. By the time they have finished, Jim's lips are glossy and stained red from the berry juice, and no doubt taste just as sweet.

\---

Sebastian is a hound when it comes to food, only redeemed by the fact he does have well bred manners in him. His coffee is gone before the end of the meal because he takes big sips and most mugs are too small. There's just too much space in his body to fill when he burns it all so fast. He chews every bite delivered to him while watching Jim with keen interest and the perk of his mouth corners never cease once. He can see through this ploy, the cute teasing Jim goes out of his way to do and if you didn't know the little Irish devil, you'd never guess it wasn't oblivious behavior.

He's terrible. And lovely. And the fictional heavens know how badly Sebastian wants to lean in and lick that slip of saccharine juice from those pretty pink lips. This is a terrible game, why did he tell Jim to tease him?

He can't even move his hands, his arms sit idle as if his body were ignoring how close Jim was to him and it is simply unnatural to Sebastian. But he has no desire to end this challenge so quickly. He leans in, tilting blond mess, eyes heavily lidded and smile curling-

"You've got something..." His voice is low and quiet, pausing with his lips parted like maybe he was going to- and his right hand slips between them with the cloth napkin and dabs the corner of Jim's mouth with the tip of the fabric's fold. "There."

\---

As Sebastian leans in to dab at Jim's mouth, there is a moment there while the boy returns to his normal, dead eyed stare, his face dropping into the blank expression that leaves him a mystery to the world. Sebastian is wonderful, he really is, but this game does not work in both directions. Turning Jim on is a...well, not an impossible task, as it had been proven. However, if Jim is not interested, he works like his libido is managed by a switch that seems to be locked in the off position more often than not. There is little Sebastian can do to coax Jim into breaking the challenge, because no doubt a kiss is crossing the line. The boy is simply not as ravenous as his companion, and the times they do fool around, it's for strategic purposes for the most part.

Jim is rather horrible at this whole boyfriend thing, but then, what does Sebastian have to go off of anyway?

He purses his lips as Sebastian draws away the napkin, and hums, running his tongue over the cleaned lips, as if chasing any lingering morsel. His eyelids drop half mast, and the thick, dark lashes put Sebastian's to shame, inky smudges brushing pale cheeks.

"I think a shave is in order now...don't you agree? You'll have to be still...it's my first time." He breathes out the last few words in a torturous drawl, exaggerating the syllables on his tongue.

\---

The fact that Jim is infallible doesn't seem to phase Sebastian. He laughs softly to himself, a huff of air as he drops his arm away, napkin curled in hand. No, he is definitely the only hound in the room. Jim is all but unbendable until he wants to be, the picture of control that Sebastian does not know how to mimic, regardless of all his patience; that was not to say he had no self control at all. Funny how the two were not mutually exclusive.

Sebastian can aaaaaalmost sigh when Jim articulates his words so thoughtfully. One of many firsts. He gently tongues the scar on his lip as if to recall the first blood Jim had ever drawn from him.

 "A shame I don't use a straight razor."

\---

Jim frowns at this, he'd really been hoping to wield a blade. A modern razor has no appeal, no interest to him. He shrugs and slides out of Sebastian's lap. "Shame indeed. One would think in an old manor like this, there would be someone with some taste. Unfortunately, that doesn't seem to be the case."

He wanders off then, back upstairs to contemplate what temporary outfit he can piece together. He's changed his mind about shaving now, Sebastian can fend for himself. With that single disappointment, the amusement of this game quickly wanes on him, and Jim is dangerously close to growing bored. The prospect of a new suit is just enough to keep him interested, even if bits of his plans are crumbling way side.

Safety razors. Disgusting.

\---

There is no reason for a teenage boy to use a straight razor while shaving. Especially when away at boarding school where the kind of time and ability to manage it is a busy balance without unnecessarily old practices. And he does think it's an old and rather unnecessary practice. Imagine trying to wield one in a dormitory washroom where other boys are in and out during the samehours. One little accidental nudge and you're spilling ribbons. No, Sebastian did not use a straight razor.

That didn't mean there wasn't one.

He could have said something to Jim before he got up and wandered off but it was better not to make promises before you could deliver them. And anyway, if it weren't for that look of utter disappointment, and by that it's really more of just a frown, he might not have considered it at all. But a blade is what Jim wants, as if he can't do plenty damage with anything else. And it's obvious, isn't it? He doesn't want to shave Sebastian so much as put a sharp object to his throat.

Well. Sebastian is questionably sane and he may questionably find the idea rather... Thrilling. And that's no wonder really, history considered.

The blond doesn't question it. Once Jim has disappeared from the dining room, he slides out of the chair and leaves his napkin behind on the table with a flick of his wrist when he goes on a hunt. The easiest thing to do would be asking Nigel, because the reason he knows there's one somewhere in this house is because the butler typically gives Augustus his shave when the Moran elder wipes the slate clean of his obnoxious fine trim His father doesn't use one on his own either.

But he won't be speaking to Nigel if he can ever help it. It takes him a few minutes, but he does hunt it down; a polished oak box with the entire kit. Yes, this would be ridiculously unwieldy trying to use at Eton. No turning back on his decision now, he hunts down where Jim has got off to in order to present the box to him, nudging into his bedroom.

"Jim?"

\---

Jim is sorting through the hand-me-downs Sebastian had put aside, trying to find something he won't be drowning in, but will be proper for town. He thinks, for not the first time, that Sebastian probably thought ahead and got rid of his clothing so he'd be forced to wear Sebastian's clothes. The older boy no doubt got a kick out of the fact Jim was forced to wear bits of his wardrobe.

As his name is called, Jim glances up, looking over at Sebastian , then dropping his gaze to the box the blond is clutching. He knows what it is without even approaching, and a smile cuts itself across his face as if the blade inside the box has carved it there. This is the sort of thing that would earn Sebastian a kiss, had the older boy not asked for this ridiculous challenge.

Jim practically skips over to Sebastian, his eyes bright and excited as he reaches for the box and pulls it from Sebastian's hands, creaking open the polished oak and making a soft murmur of delight at the sight of the glinting blade inside. The way Jim clutches the box, it's obvious he'll be keeping it long after he stays his welcome.

"Good." He says simply, heading off to the bathroom to begin setting up.

\---

He wonders for a split second if he might regret this, right up until he sees the smile almost instantly on that adorable face. And it's precious, regardless of what anyone else may think; it's absolutely divine. Sebastian is a complete slave to that smile, he falls for it like a man with gold lust. If Jim told him to murder everyone in the house and smiled at him as he did so and promised him kisses, well, he'd probably do it. And it's Monday so that's a considerable body count.

Sebastian watches as he slinks off clutching the box and catches himself smiling. Moving to the desk, he hooks his good arm around the chair and carries it with him as he heads after the younger boy. Dipping into the loo, he sets the chair down, back to the counter and peels his shirt up over his blond head, tossing it into the hamper. Casting a glance at himself in the mirror, he slides a hand through his hair, which falls right back down his forehead in the seconds he straddles the chair and leans forward against its back with arms propped, watching Jim root through the professional kit.

\---

Jim sets out each piece, examining it and cataloging its purpose before moving on to the next. A leather strap is taken out, and he flicks the long handled razor open and swipes it across the suede, sharpening the blade. Each time his hand passes, the gesture is more precise, until finally he's sharpening like a professional, polishing the blade to a high gloss sheen. Warm water comes next, moistening a wash cloth, and he turns to Sebastian, wrapping it around his neck and chin to soften the stubble there, before turning to foam the lather with more of the hot water.

He doffs his shirt as well, because the long, oversized sleeves give him bat wings, and wielding a blade with any semblance of dexterity would be impossible with so much excess material. The towel is removed, and he checks the bristled hair adorning Sebastian's face for softness before deciding he is ready, bidding him to turn around and sit proper so Jim can lather him up with the thick shaving cream.

Once he is covered, the blade is lifted...and Jim sinks down to straddle Sebastian's lap, perching on his thighs as he tilts the blond's head back, placing the edge of the blade to his throat and dragging it up with a slow scrape of metal meeting flesh.

\---

Sebastian watches the meticulous methodology performed by Jim's hands, a sequence of events he can recall seeing in the past when he was a boy and in flashes of happenstance as he got older. Jim moves as if this is not new to him, though he's stated it's his first; one of these things should make him nervous while the other poses as a comfort. He feels neither, not until Jim sits atop his thighs and thrill beats in his chest, sparking through his limbs. The blond sits in relaxed posture, arms hanging down his sides and head tilted just as directed.

Sebastian resists a swallow and holds his breath as the blade touches his throat and slides upwards across skin that's seen its fair share of sharp edged abuse. The sound is almost obscene, that dragging metal across graveled flesh, rough and yet somehow still tender. It takes a perfect angle to do the job, to keep it from cutting or causing pain, but there's lightning that flickers through his system every time he feels the edge on his skin, danger lingering so close to vital, supple spots.

When Jim lifts the blade again, he breathes, but his eyes are closed and he stays perfectly still waiting for the next careful stroke.

\---

Between strokes, Jim cleans the lather off of the blade on the moistened towel then he's slung over his shoulder after peeling it from Sebastian's face. He leans close with each swipe, pressing their bare chests together, and he swears he can feel Sebastian's heart beat against his, stuttering as it tries to calm itself down. Obviously this excites him, being so absolutely at Jim's mercy. Just a flick of his wrist, and Sebastian is dead.

\---

Sebastian opens his eyes now and again between drags of the blade, watching Jim carefully, none at all shy about his stare until the moment Jim coaxes his head to turn where it needs to go and blue goes hidden away again. 

Who knew shaving could be erotic. But then, maybe you weren't supposed to feel that way if you were a sane, healthy teenager, the matter if which was almost undebatable at this point. He enjoys the feeling of Jim's weight resting on his lap too much, too susceptible to the closeness of their press every time Jim leans into him. He could pick Jim up over his head probably, he weighs nothing, but it's so acute to him he may have been able to tell Jim apart from anyone else by that feeling alone.

\---

He moves away from the tender spot, up towards the boy's cheeks instead, shearing the stubble from his jaw and face, on the end of an exhale that bathes across Sebastian's freshly shaved skin. Jim arches up to reach higher, hovering above Sebastian's lap and he's oh so careful as he moves to the other cheek. Soon only the bit above his upper lip is left, and he reaches up and pinches Sebastian's nose gently, tilting his head back to swipe over the cupid's bow before releasing.

Jim holds the blade tight in his grip as he slides back down, his slight weight pressing down against Sebastian's lap once again.

"Shall I shave the hair above your cock as well?"

\---

When all is done and Jim leans away another time, questioning him, Sebastian opens his eyes and lands them directly on Jim there in front of him. There's a narrowed gaze for a slew seconds, the corner of his mouth pulling.

"Tried that before. Not an irritation I care to have again." He leans towards Jim in slight, chin inclining to the side a bit. "So unless you're insisting, not in this lifetime."

\---

Jim, with a flick of his wrist, snaps the straight razor shut, smirking like the devilish imp Sebastian believes him to be. It was a tease, Jim has no interest in depriving his paramour of that blonde trail that grazes his toned stomach. His gaze drops to it as his mind summons up an image of what that blond tuft leads to.

He reaches down and curls his fingers in the sparse hair, stroking the taut stomach and abdomen beneath, because he can touch, oh can he touch, Sebastian should have been much wiser than to deal with the devil.

But the touch ends as quickly as it started, and Jim leans up to clean off the rest of the lather off Sebastian's face with the towel. He surveys his handy work, and it’s damn fine for a first time. He's smooth and uncut, and how can Jim not arch up and press a kiss to his freshly shaven, newly established boyfriend's cheek?

Because he can't, because Sebastian is an idiot. He just pantomimes the motions, but lips don't actually touch. Just a soft little smack of pursed lips, and then he's pushing up and out of Sebastian's lap, heading to the cabinet to find Sebastian's own aftershave. Because he's not using the one in the kit and risking his lover smelling like his lover's father.

Pulling the cologne out, he splashes it on his hands and then returns to reach up and pat it against soft cheeks, smoothing his cool fingers over the high arch of cheekbones. "There you are… perfect."

\---

When the blade snaps shut, Sebastian flashes something of a small grin as he leans back again. His eyes remain on Jim, flickering downward with his gaze, forever wondering what is going on in that brilliant mind as his fingers draw over flesh and fine strands on his lower abdomen. Funny how denial makes every little caress feel much more grand in purpose. The smallest things he may not have batted thin lashes at are now traced by overactive nerves like shreds of metal chasing after a magnet.

Sebastian licks his lips in the moments that Jim steps away to rustle through his cabinet to find something he didn't wear terribly often. He appreciates the sentiment, Jim not making him smell the same as Sir Augustus. The smell didn't suit him anyway, too old with sharply distinct musk for a modern young man under a cut jawline and sharp eyes. He recognizes the scent on Jim's hands when his face is touched, blue fixated and following above his soft, artful smile and that's the second time he's suggested perfection and Sebastian in the same sentence.

"Will you be my barber now?"

He questions, his hands moving to sit on his thighs where Jim's weight has gone missing from him. He dare not reach up to feel the result while Jim's hand lingers near but something about his look suggests that if he could, he very well would be touching. He equally wonders if this contact would shy away again if he were allowed to react and that possibility makes this frustrating game of denial worth suffering a while longer.

\---

Jim's eyes narrow ever so slightly, and just a hint of malice bleeds into his eyes, making them dark beneath the cage of lashes. His thumb and forefinger press together, and he pinches Sebastian's cheek, grinding muscle between the digits before he pulls away with a hiss.

"I'm not your fucking servant, Moran. You already have a house full of them."

Jim slings the razor carelessly into the porcelain basin of the sink, where it clatters against ceramic as he stalks away back to the bedroom. Really, he can only keep up this sweet persona for so long before it grates on his nerves, and Sebastian still hasn't given in, presumably because he expects Jim to break first like some swooning maiden.

With a huff, he starts to dress, yet again in sagging, oversized clothing that really, by now, he's used to. Still, he is looking forward  to getting something that fits today. Which of course brings him back to the fact that he does still need to be sweet if he hopes to obtain at least one bit of his own wardrobe that is tailored to his figure.

\---

Despite the expression and the snake bite of a pinch, Sebastian grins and chuckles, reaching up to rub his cheek when Jim lets it go. A sense of humor he's sorely lacking. Or maybe it's better to say it's a harsh, dry sort that bites like a viper. It's only funny because it isn't terribly. There _must_ be something wrong with him to find amusement in strange things.

The razor is abandoned in the sink noisily and the tall blond stands, moving to the counter to glance over himself in the mirror. A tilt this way and that as fingers feel along his face, he admires Jim's work. An open blade makes for a clean, close shave and he's managed to come away with no wounds. It's impressive enough.

Instead of heading off into the bedroom after his irritable Irish star, the Moran heir takes out the time to tame his hair, dabbing mousse onto his good fingers and sliding them through golden strands to push them back into his usual style. Satisfied, he gives his teeth a brush before he's off to the bedroom to fetch the suit chosen for their, ah, date.

Stripping off his sleeper trousers and folding them up, he drops them on the dresser when he fetches out a clean undershirt that he pulls on as he stalks to the bedside. He begins deconstructing the suit from its hanger with the one good hand, pulling on trousers first.

\---

Jim has dressed quickly enough, because it's impossible to manage any semblance of neatness while you are swimming in your clothes. He's seated himself on the edge of the dresser because the desk chair was still in the bathroom, and there he perches like a gargoyle and watches devastatingly handsome Sebastian Moran change into his form fitting, perfectly tailored wardrobe.

Again, he's lost, has no idea what Sebastian sees in him. Someone who has already admitted to being promiscuous, could have anyone he wants, and somehow it’s Jim that strikes his fancy. It's almost some hollywood love story. Rich, powerful, handsome boy, falling for someone who lives on the other side of the tracks.

Only this story has quite a bit of murder in it too, so maybe it’s not so much a romance as it is a horror.

He's ruined Sebastian for a few more weeks yet, so with a sigh, he climbs off the desk and comes over to shoo hands away and slip the buttons of Sebastian's shirt into their holes. He tilts his head up and looks at Sebastian as he does, brow furrowed in bemusement that never makes it to his lips. He'll never understand why it's him here.

But he doesn't want it to be anyone else.

\---

He glances up when shadow appears in his peripheral, hands fussing his away from the line of buttons leading up his torso. He raises his eyes to Jim's level and something of a smile lingers there in the corner of his mouth which yearns for Jim's soft, pink lips that set in a relaxed line of unaffected boredom. Hands move aside in a quietly dramatic show to avoid their touching, because that is the game and it's terrible as much as it is amusing. They probably both hate it- at least, Sebastian likes to think Jim does as equally. But he'll never know for sure because one forward question for the morning was enough and they came out of that unscathed and titled.

No one has ever asked him why. Perhaps largely because they are the only ones privy to their relationship outside of the now-well-aware staff on hand at the Moran manor. That display was rather obscene, wasn't it? But Sebastian didn't care who knew and neither did Jim, who made a point once of kissing him in public before sending him on his way back to Eton. Staking his claim, maybe. And these were the things that made him believe Jim was fond, even though he scowled and lashed out and sometimes pushed away- Sebastian was certain, without a doubt, that there was something in that precious little heart just for him. Because he's foolish and clever all at once and Jim wouldn't suffer him by any kind of force. That meant, on some level, Jim wanted to. But why is not a question asked and yet there is a library of answers waiting for it.

Well, while the Irish brunet fiddles with buttons and the older boy ponders what might be going on in that stormy mind, he slides the tie off the center of the hanger and wraps it around his neck, leaving it loose on his shoulders until he's buttoned to freshly shaven throat. Meanwhile beginning to tuck the shirt in, starting from the back and always, always watching Jim as if he were an ever changing sky of colorful magnificence and to look away would be a tragedy.

\---

Jim leans up to take over tying that silken tie as Sebastian tucks in his shirt, and despite Jim's obviously shoddy wardrobe and overall poverty stricken appearance, he ties the cravat with absolute perfection as if his hands had done it thousands of times before. He smoothes down the knot and his fingers linger on the fabric, and for a moment he looks so wistful and forlorn, all over a stupid fucking tie.

Jim pulls his hand away, and those dark eyes flit up to met Sebastian's blues, and he says in a very soft voice, really no louder than a whisper...

"I used to have a lot of suits..."

He steps back and drops his eyes to the jacket laying on the bed, taking it off the hanger and handing it over to Sebastian. He's not tall enough to hold it up for the older boy to shrug into, but this will have to do. He stares for a long while at this clean shaven, well dressed version of the boy who has become the center of his world, and there is such a different air about him than there is when Sebastian is wearing his Eton uniform, because he's wearing what Jim has picked out for him.

Jim's gaze drops down to his hands, to the too big, old worn jumper that covers his wrists. He swallows thickly and curls his fingers into fists, and the words that follow are strained.

"Shall we go then?"

\---

He's clipped his braces in place as nimble fingers tie silk into perfect knot and it's a better job than he could ever do. He'd have said so, praised his little star, if not for the whisper that hushes between their gazes before he can speak.

_Used to._

The smile he's been holding on to finally falters as those dark eyes fall. He can hear the difference in Jim's voice and it churns something in his chest that strips the amusement right out. His fingers twitch, hand lifts but he stops himself when he remembers he isn't allowed to touch and so the hand simply lingers in limbo for a moment, wanting to slip under that chin, wanting to beckon his face upward, to kiss him.

And now he hates this stupid game again.

"Yes.”


	20. Write Your Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leave your scar.
> 
> The story of Moriarty and Moran, from the very beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This will be updated every Saturday.**
> 
> We are ever grateful for the support of [Hippano](http://hippano.tumblr.com/), with her artwork and beta.  
> 

In a parting movement, Sebastian pulls his suit jacket on gestures for the door of the bedroom.

"Shall I drive, or will we be driven?" He let’s the moment pass otherwise silent.

\---

Jim hesitates for a moment, composing himself and shoving that outburst back down as he nods and turns to follow Sebastian. He really doesn't care for this game at all; at the moment he'd rather just bury himself against Sebastian and lose himself in the strong arms that will inevitably curl around him. But he doesn't reach for Sebastian and the blond continues on, so Jim follows.

"You can drive?" Of course he can. Sebastian is nearly of age and probably has his own car. Possibilities open up like a wide yawning chasm before him and he hurries after the other boy, forgetting upsets as this new information dawns on him. Obviously Jim would rather they not have to rely on anyone else. Sebastian doesn't count, he and Jim are as good as one, so it is no longer charity to accept things from him.

He follows Sebastian downstairs and oh does he want to tangle their fingers together at the prospect of starting an adventure together, on their own, and perhaps even less disastrous for them then camping. After all, it's only the city. What trouble can they get into there?

\---

"I insisted."

He answers Jim as he pauses long enough to fetch his wallet from the desk and tuck it into his pocket, leading out into the hall and waiting to shut the door behind them. With no hands to occupy his own, his fingers settle for buttoning his jacket as they make their way towards the stairs.

"Augustus doesn't drive himself anywhere. Never learned. It's his privilege to wait around for other people to fetch him."

He rounds the staircase banister and begins the descent, making sure not to take them too quickly so that he and Jim were still close, even if they were not to touch.

"But I don't like being ushered around all the time. Eton is bad enough and Nigel is even worse. Can you imagine being stuck out here all summer? It wasn’t hard to find a time when Augustus wasn’t home. I made Henry teach me when I was still young. We've got enough cars to cover the lot."

Downstairs, he holds the front door for Jim and it seems they're to escape the house without being intercepted by the staff; namely one. He smiles.

"You can't keep cars at Eton, otherwise I’d have bought my own by now. But being able to drive yourself apparently defeats the purpose of boarding." He rolls his eyes and down the steps they go, crossing towards the car park to make a choice of the four vehicles. Actually, Sebastian has no idea why his father even owns as many. Status, if he had to guess. Pointless seeing as they sat about mostly.

He pauses and gestures for the vehicles lined up under the archway doors of the garage. The black Rolls-Royce they had taken to camp, the cream Bently that had retrieved them in London, a white convertible Mercedes and the other, a silver Porsche. "Might my date pick his carriage?"

\---

It's not a hard choice. Jim runs up to the silver Porsche and peers into the dark windows. It looks like something out of a James Bond film, though not quite as nice as an Aston Martin. He eyes flit up to Sebastian for a brief moment, in his suit and tie, and the boy is easily a man straight from one of those films, handsome and strong, while Jim is still a child begging to be taken to the cinema.

He licks his lips and pushes back from the car, looking up at Sebastian with an excited little bounce. "This one will do." He pipes up, stepping back from the driver's side so Sebastian can open it when he's gotten the key.

\---

"Good choice."

A grin spreads across Sebastian's face again and he gives a nod, moving to the wall where keys are lined up on hooks. He plucks the set up in his palm and gives them a jingle before making his way to the car, unlocking and opening the passenger door to hold it open in gesture for Jim to hop in.

\---

Jim slips into the passenger seat and he doesn't bother with the belt because Sebastian isn't going to crash and end up losing the game. He rolls down the window as the blond pulls out of the garage, so he can feel the wind blow through his hair as they drive through the countryside. It's pleasant today, a little warmer than the previous few; the perfect weather for a date even if they are spending most of it inside.

\---

The door pops shut and Sebastian moves around the front of the car, pulled in backwards, to slide in behind the wheel. He hasn't had the opportunity to drive since New Years but he's looking forward to it, even if London is a rather terrible place to be driving around, busy as it is. He doesn't waste time, the engine purrs alive on the turn of ignition before he guides them down the drive to the iron gates.

\---

He smiles as he looks back at Sebastian and the sadness from earlier seems a sliver of the past. A hand comes up to tuck windswept hair behind his ear and then gestures to the radio.

"You can turn it on what you like… I'm curious actually. If you have taste or not." He smirks and looks back out the window, laying his cheek against the arm that rests against the door.

\---

They're on the long road in short time, down the line of grand houses belonging to a few of London's influential. He shoots a short glance at Jim when he speaks up, barking a free laugh as eyes go back to the road.

"That sounds more dangerous than putting another knife to my throat."His grin widebs, hand reaching out to blindly fiddle with the radio. Like the mirrors, the station hasn’t changed since he was last in the car, being the least used of all four vehicles.

"Do you know what sort of fights go on in the houses about rubbish music tastes?" The ridiculousness of it all. Teenagers get so heated with each other about it, waving around their cassette players, trying to convince each other they were wrong.

The radio clicks on and Sebastian searches through the static and chatter of different stations, casting it a glance or two until he finds what he's looking for. What settles over the frequency is a concert of violins. The quality of radio playing vinyl is not as brilliant as a concert halls echo or even the chime bouncing off the walls of the manor, but it's still pleasant. He doesn't get to listen to music as often as he'd like, being in and out of classes all day and wound on a tight schedule in the evenings. Tapes are neither the same as vinyl records.

\---

"I don't know a thing about it." He says with a sigh. All he knows of Eton is a spidered window and being curled warm against Sebastian for the better part of an hour. He doesn't know what it's like to live with other teenage boys, to share music tastes, or even argue them. The only other boy...no...the only other person he interacts with is Sebastian.

As Sebastian finds his station, there is mild surprise in the genre he picks. For a moment, he thinks Sebastian has picked it because of him, rather than choosing for himself. But no...he likes this music as much as Jim, because he likes to hear Jim play. He smiles and hums along to Vivaldi, tapping his fingers along the edge of the door as if playing piano right along with the tune from the radio, watching the world pass by outside the window.

\---

"Ten year-olds arguing over ice cream flavors, that's what they sound like."

He chuckles almost soundlessly, shaking his head, nary a strand out of place for once. Glances are cast Jim's way as they make it down the end of the stretch and turn onto the main motorway leading back into London. Little fingers tap silently and a soft smile is caught on those lips. Sebastian wishes he could watch him, but his eyes stay focused on the road.

"One of these days, you must play again. I'll beg if I have to." And he would, probably. Fond memory surfaces, the last song he heard was played by Jim's hands, though that second time was disenchanted by frustrations in the notes. He wonders if Jim would smile the same way he did the first, knowing he was being watched so closely, being asked to play instead of stumbling into the discovery. Jim would do no thing he did not desire, of course. He was brilliance kin to the sun trapped in flesh and Sebastian craved to see it again.

\---

"Must I?" He drawls softly, looking back over to Sebastian with a soft smile that is not something that curves often on his lips. He teases, but he likes that Sebastian admires his playing. It's something that is purely Jim, something that money or status has no place in. It's pure talent, and if Sebastian asked, Jim would always play for him.

But he doesn't let Sebastian know that. For some stupid reason they're playing this game, and Jim tilts his head back to the window, the wind ruffling through his dark hair. "Begging means I win. Whether it's sex or piano."

\---

Sebastian nods, yes _must_ , shooting Jim another glance and his only regret is having to look away from that smile, soft and honest and tucked away into his vault of memories; pieces of Jim.

He laughs quietly. The words together sound like they belong; a book title, some salacious romance novel or the scandalous memoirs of a pianist. Maybe an album name, or a movie even.

"Sex and piano?" He repeats with amusement. "These are my downfall."

Yet it isn't quite true to narrow it down so. "But it's you I can't go without."

\---

There's a moment where for Jim, the world pauses. The breeze fluttering through his hair isn't there, the trill of violins no longer plays over the speakers of the car stereo. Even the engine takes a moment to stop purring like an overgrown jungle cat. There is nothing, _nothing_ but those words Sebastian uttered, repeating in his head.

And he wants to think they aren't real, wants to stay clutching to the belief that this is just something they are doing for fun, just a silly game. Because the alternative scares him where nothing else has ever managed.

Jim closes his eyes and runs through the things he can do in response. He's caught somewhere between demanding Sebastian stop the car so he can climb over and snog the life out of him, game be damned, or throwing himself from the speeding car and take his chances with the road and the countryside. But both are ridiculous to the extreme and will probably end up with him crashing.

Sebastian is no doubt waiting for an answer and quite frankly it's probably an answer he'll be waiting for the rest of his life. But for now, right now, there's only one answer to give.

Soft and spoken to the wind, which picks up again, sending unruly dark strands dancing across his forehead.

"You have me."

\---

He isn't really. Waiting for an answer, that is. Sebastian says a lot of things that don't really need answers, they just exist for truth he's chosen to state aloud. Some sentiments may be worth keeping in a bottle but others are infinitely more valuable when said out loud and he's made no secret of this devotion. Jim should know, because for every suggestion of danger that he gets himself into, being with Jim, there is an equal hazard the other boy faces when being involved with him. After all, Jim did not _make_ him do anything.

But an answer comes and he catches it above the collective noise of rushing wind, singing violins and the deep rumble of mechanics.

_You have me._

He could accidentally kill them, glancing away from the road they now share with other cars speeding towards the city's heart. It takes whatever is left of his willpower not to look over and watch how the sun sprinkles in on pale skin and the wind musses black almost violently or any trace, any sign of expression that might linger in those often unreadable eyes or those soft lips. There isn't much left by now but it's enough, because killing them goes against the agenda and he has promised Jim a date. So he promises himself this game will not go on much longer, because he simply cannot stand it.

A smile keeps his mouth company for now, as they head towards the veins of London, the city he once wanted to leave the moment he was granted. There's a reason now, to stay. One that became far greater than 18 years of spite and malice. He knows exactly where they are going, if only because he visits the same place at least twice per year of the last five.

\---

Jim is quiet the rest of the ride, feeling the sunlight beat warmth on his face, contradicting the cool air that breezes over him and ruffles the collar of his overlarge shirt. It's peaceful, and fragile, and he doesn't want to break it because it’s so rare he gets moments like this, where he is happy and comfortable. He could fall asleep like this, a cat basking in the sun.

But soon they hit London and the breeze and sun are no longer pleasant, blanketed in smog that turns his nose after so long being out of it. He'd just gotten London out of his lungs and it seeps back, churning inside of him and reminding him: he's here forever.

He watches the road ahead now, trying to guess where they are going. He's got most of London memorized, but posh districts and clothing shops have not come into play for most of his trips around London, so he's curious, tilting his chin up to read street signs.

\---

A suit tailor on Jermyn St, New and Lingwood. Of course Sebastian would go to a tailor just blocks away from Buckingham Palace. Fact is they don't have the time for a full bespoke, but if Jim let him, he'd indulge him in it within a heartbeat. N&L would at least fit him in something proper, price tag or not.

With no driver to simply spot them on the curbside, he hunts down the nearest car park amongst traffic lines so they can make their way on foot across Piccadilly. He has no idea what Jim's exposure to the city is but it's almost guaranteed to be greater than his own. He spent so much time indoors and trapped by fences or high walls that he has little knowledge of the nervous system of his own hometown except the few places he roams. He does know that Jim had walked a stretch of this city by foot alone, once just to find him at Eton.

They're out of the car by now and Sebastian slips his hands into trouser pockets as they leave the car park to cross streets because it's really the only way he won't be putting them on Jim.

\---

Jim may not frequent the shops, but he knows Piccadilly. Any Londoner should. He falls in step a few paces before Sebastian, always leading, even though he hasn't any idea where they are going. He can tell when he has to turn from the shift in Sebastian's stance behind him.

It's not like they can hold hands and stroll like a proper couple anyways. Sebastian and his silly game, where there are no prizes for him should he win. All the prizes lay with failure, and he should know that, but the man is stubborn.

But so is Jim, so he doesn't stop the game either, even when they are surrounded by couples strolling hand in hand together, worthless peons who don't even feel a fraction of the bond Seb and Jim have for each other. Yet they cling and hold and have, while Jim and Sebastian remain separate, fractured by rules made on a whim and words Sebastian surely regrets uttering for sake of his foolish pride.

\---

Sebastian smiles to himself about the way Jim leads their stride, falling together in motion while remaining apart. He watches, the way he predicts the steps, the turns, pauses almost before Sebastian can on the curbsides. He can't help thinking that his teammates could desperately use Jim's uncanny ability to read people, but brains and brawn were not terribly often in the same package, even for Etonians who were expected to be living perfection. You can't manufacture perfection, it's born, and he follows it on heel.

Sebastian takes them down Jermyn at last, a street of shops, occupied by pretentious class that flit in and out of buildings leaving a trail of money. He doesn't bat an eye at glances shot this way, their destination comes in easy view, storefront lit up with fine displays of the upper class uniform. He grabs for the door with his good hand and waits for Jim to step foot inside before following his tracks. A lick of his lips gives him a moment to glance over the interior, pristine lines of pieces and suits, the smell of polished wood and new leather. If crooked looks trail after Jim, who stands out amongst the clean cut and fitted, he hasn't taken notice because he's on the other boy's heels.

\---

Jim steps into the store, but not after scoffing at Sebastian for holding the door for him, again. He's not some maiden, but Sebastian can play the dashing, charming hero if he likes. The sight of suits and fine leather belts and shoes quickly draw Jim's attention, and he sweeps around the store, ignoring the suits on display to be fitted, and searching for the sale rack or clearance bin, because that's simply what he's come to know.

There is none, of course, and nerves start to bubble up inside of him. He hesitantly reaches for a price tag on a jacket, and the amount of numbers make him pale further than his already stark complexion. He drops the tag as if he's been burned and shakes his head, ducking it down and turning to look at Sebastian.

"It's nice...really, but I'm fine with something from Tesco...I'm not worth the price of these suits."

\---

Sebastian is familiar with these surroundings, not solely this place in particular but shops just like it. He's been in and out of them all his life and just vaguely he can even recall the women's fashion stores he would trail his mother through as a small boy. As Jim weaves through it, his gait is leisure and thoughtful, both hands in his pockets again. He knows they've been spotted and he may have been approached as fast but they linger back at the counter as if trying to gauge the connection between the well dressed boy who now passes for a man and the younger teenager dressed in clothing that in no way fits his small frame.

When Jim pauses to read a tag, Sebastian wonders for a split second if Jim is about to turn on him with accusations of throwing his wealth around. Which honestly, he is, but in no way is it intended for malice or bragging; the difference in social class is entirely insignificant to him when he knows that no matter which walk of life you step, people are the same. And then there is Jim, who doesn't even belong to their pitiful atmosphere and here he is stuck amongst the common. But instead, Jim turns to him and says something that rather... takes him by surprise, to be honest.

"Worth?" He repeats the word like it confuses him, tilting his head when his brows furrow. He knows what Jim is saying, what he's implying, but it's nonsense measured against the image Sebastian holds.

"No, you're _worth_ a full bespoke, but we haven't the time if we're going to make it to the cinema today." Because it would take days, maybe weeks for them to make the suit to Jim's entire specifications and they've only six- five and a half- more to spend before being wrenched apart.

"If a star must be stranded on earth, he may as well dress to show his brilliance." And stop the petty looks from people who think they are better. Jim is worth the entire store's merchandise but they aren't worth him.

\---

Jim stares up at Sebastian for a few moments and his fingers twitch to touch, but well...yeah. The game. He just licks his lips and nods, then turns back to the rack and runs his hands over the fabric, finding something he likes. He honestly isn't sure of his size, it's been so long since he had anything that actually fit. But he has an idea of his measurements and suits follow that more than anything.

He chooses a slim fitted suit in a navy blue so dark it's nearly black, and only noticeable when you turn the jacket just so. He finds a pale, pale grey shirt to match, of a silk blend, and a darker, dove grey tie. He tucks both over his arm, then makes his way back further to find underclothes and a pair of shoes. He doesn't go for expensive brands, but rather sturdy clothing that will last him and not easily fall apart. With arms full, he passes them over to Sebastian to hold while he gets the right size navy socks.

\---

Sebastian is almost surprised there's no further protest, but he's glad. Smiling softly to himself, he watches Jim slip in and out of rows and displays to fetch what he likes. While the other boy is busy thumbing through items, giving something of a show to his fine taste, Sebastian acts as a momentary buffer when the shop clerk pops up at last to inquire.

"May I help you, sir?"

Sebastian turns on hard heel to face him, giving a tight but pleasant greeting.

"Moran." He gives the name because it means something here and he isn't above taking advantage of it. "I think we'll manage."

"Ah yes, Sir Augustus' son! Welcome back, Mr. Moran. If there is anything we can do, please, let us know." There's an exchange of nods, one bowing, one curt.

"Yes, thank you." And he's gone, leaving them to it as Jim emerges from the forest of finery to give him an armful.

\---

Finally, he has his prizes and he beckons Sebastian to follow him back to the changing rooms so he can try each item on, taking them from the blond to hang up on the hooks provided. He strips down and sets the borrowed clothes aside, not shy about being naked, too eager to get into his new clothing. He pulls on new boxers and a vest and they fit him wonderfully. He grins happily and tugs on his shirt next, buttoning the mother of pearl buttons up his chest and at each cuff. Next, the suit slacks, which he tucks his shirt into and turns, admiring the trim fit in the standing mirror. He takes the tie and knots it around his neck and under his collar, then slips on a belt and into the black leather dress shoes. Finally, he shrugs into the jacket and buttons the two buttons at his waist, then smoothes his hair back, combing his fingers through dark hair, which now has a hint of blue highlight from the suit. He smiles and turns around, the slim fit of the suit clinging snuggly to his lean figure. He looks up at Sebastian and the smile on his face rivals anything he wore while playing piano.

Jim is utterly, immeasurably happy.

\---

Sebastian is an obedient coatrack, following after the other boy into the changing rooms, taking care to hold the items at easy access as Jim begins to piece himself together much the way he himself had done this morning.

its with slow haste that a very different boy is put together in front of the mirror. Sebastian is, well, transfixed is a good word for it. There's an arrangement of expressions that are new and genuine and they cross so easily, so effortlessly on Jim's face, making him young again. Sebastian's mind desperately tries to store away this entire moment, in bits and pieces and whole chunks, just taking up space where useless information might have once been.

When at last the other boy turns to him, fully dressed and smoothed down from head to toe, he is not a child swimming in layers, not a boy who gets bullied in the alley or scowls hatefully at nothing or thinks himself impossibly unworthy of all the finer things, he is simply--

"Perfection." Hushed.

And his smile. That smile he flashes at Sebastian; his heart might have stopped, he's paying no attention to it. He draws in a breath and words don't quite make it off his tongue, so the air simply tumbles out again. He moves a few steps closer and fingers curl on themselves and he bites his lip before sighing with burden. In a smooth motion, he drops to one knee and falls lower than the Irish boy's eye level, looking up at him and speaking low.

"Jim, I can't stand it anymore. I'm begging you, please, just..." For a moment he closes his eyes and emphasizes the words. "Kiss me."

\---

Jim bites the inside of his cheek as Sebastian whispers out his praise. The older boy has always been obsessed, the reaction is not entirely a surprise. But it's still quite a bit for Jim to process that he can look like anything other than a ragamuffin; a poor student in hand-me-downs and thrift store finds.

And then Sebastian falls to his knee and Jim feels the faintest hint of a flush burn his cheeks. Oh. Well. There goes the game.

Jim blinks as what it took to crack Sebastian, frankly, surprised. But it's a relief, because now he can touch, really touch. And kiss.

He reaches out and runs his hands over Sebastian's cheeks. They're so smooth from this morning's shave and his palms mold to the warm skin.

"I win."

He murmurs, then tilts down and seals their lips together in the kiss Sebastian had pleaded for.

\---

He breathes in when Jim touches his skin again and even though the other boy has teased and taunted all morning with such fleeting gestures and the press of his body, now it's the solid touch Sebastian has longed for from the moment it halted. And he's smiling, impossibly, because what broke him was not just the image of Jim all dressed up proper, as if to reflect even a fraction of his radiance; it's that smile dancing across his mouth so easily, so preciously, and it belongs to him. He claims it for himself and would fight the ancient gods for it if he had to.

Finally, finally their lips find each other again and it's a relief from the tightness knotted in his chest without his knowing. His will power ebbed away under the need for contact, to touch supple skin and hold slender frame in his arms, to feel the minuscule weight against him. And what did it matter, pride be damned, if he could have this again. He'd lasted longer than either probably thought he would but enough was enough of this game they both hated.

He tries not to be greedy, to keep it sweet, but his kiss is firm and fervent and his fingers crave, so he slides his good set over one of Jim's hands.

\---

Jim has never cared for sweetness, so when Sebastian pushes back with obvious desire, Jim lets him, lets him touch. He parts his lips and hums an invitation and in a fluid movement, slips down to sit on Sebastian's elevated knee, bringing them closer together. The hand not trapped beneath Sebastian's pushes back into his slicked hair, gliding over the pale strands till he reaches the back of his skull, cradling it in his palm.

Sebastian has stolen kisses, and wears proof of it on his lip, forever. But now he begs for them.

He's learning.

\---

Invitations do not go ignored, eager tongue diving past parted lips to find its playmate and rememorize as if a lifetime passed by. With Jim dipping closer, weight on his bending knee, the plastered arm hiding under layers of suit fabrics slips around the smaller, equally fine dressed waist and gives him a press closer because it has been far too long since he held Jim. Thick fabrics come together, charcoal gray to deep navy, skin to skin and mouth to mouth; this was worth the ridiculous game they played and little else could compare to that feeling. Or to Jim's smile.

Tongues slide together and warmth mingles and lips work calm passion against one another and he's missed this, so desperately, even just half a day. What a hopeless thing he has become, stealing away Jim's air, forsaking the need of his own to keep him as long as he's allowed, never mind where they are. They would miss no further opportunities on their date and he intended to stay separate no more.

\---

It's a kiss. Just a kiss, but Sebastian treats it like the press of lips and tongues are life giving nectar that he's been without for too long. It's silly really, how desperate this man is to embrace Jim, to hold him and swallow him down, absorb him into lungs and bloodstream. He is so eager to accept Jim into his life, no, to become his existence, all the while not understanding how easily the younger boy can become a parasite that latches on for life.

Jim is finally the one to break the kiss, pulling back with a soft sigh as he gathers a lungful of air. He combs his hands one final time through Sebastian's hair, then stands and wastes no time straightening out his jacket once more. He has no doubt Sebastian would ravish him here in this dressing stall, should he give any indication he was agreeable to it. But he's been promised a date and he intends to collect.

\---

It makes up for the kiss he wanted over breakfast and maybe that's something to do with how important it seems just then. A declaration has been made with labels and now they will proceed with their date and as ordinary as that is, both seem eager, like maybe they haven't completely given up on the idea of stealing a moment together. Sebastian won't tolerate interruptions again.

But for all his avid touch, he does not hold Jim any longer than the other boy wishes, and as he steps away, a fond gaze watches him move before he stands to his own towering height again. He gives his own jacket a small tug, a hand sliding over his hair where an ornery strand pops out of place against his forehead that he doesn't bother to fuss with.

"Will it do?" He inquires on the suit, that grin stretching his cheeks again.

\---

Jim catches a glance in the mirror again, twisting his body around in a supple flex of lean muscle to take in several angles, then nods and spins back around straight, running his hands up to smooth Sebastian's tie, because he oh so loves doing it. "It'll do. We look like a proper couple now."

He grins and then steps past Sebastian to collect his old clothing, because Jim doesn't waste what he doesn't have to waste. He brings them to the counter and asks for a bag to put them in, he'll wear his purchases out. The clerk sniffs and raises a brow, but doesn't say anything much because Sebastian is not far behind Jim and she's easily charmed by his classic good looks.

The clerk takes the old clothes and tags from Jim, adding them up and reads a total to Sebastian that is well into the thousands. Jim presses his lips together in a thin line, imagining not clothing, but all the food that could be bought with that amount. Or a good chunk of his tuition paid. He's on his way to a scholarship but it's a rather daunting thing to imagine him getting full stop.

He turns and looks at Sebastian, pressing his lips together in a thin line. "Maybe...maybe skip the cinema."

\---

His grin consumes half his face, too wide and too many teeth when he laughs breathily and silent, because it's new to hear them referred to as a couple but he likes it anyway because it means that Jim is his.

He follows after the other boy in no hurry, hand diving into pocket again for his wallet while the clerk goes over the tags. The number doesn't make him flinch, it means very little to him and for that, maybe he is exactly as expected of an Etonian. Jim's comment catches his attention much easier however and he glances at him questioningly, but before he can get the words out of his open mouth, he's interrupted.

"Will you be putting this on your father's account?"

In hand are already his bank card and ID. He looks to her, brows furrowed, passing them over with a casual brush off of the suggestion. "No, mine."

Blue sets right back onto Jim.

"What for?" But maybe he already knows. _I'm not worth the price of these suits._ He pauses and then smiles again.

"A proper couple should go on a proper first date." And he doesn't give a damn about the clerk standing on the other side of the counter.

\---

Jim stares up at Sebastian, dark eyes unblinking as he considers. Sebastian of course wants to put this purchase on his own card, he doesn't want his father to provide anything for Jim, because Jim is Sebastian's burden. Mayhaps responsibility is a more pleasant term, but let's not mince words. Jim is a burden and being associated with him has already earned the deaths of two people and scars and broken bones.

His lips part from their press as Sebastian publicly outs them, scandal in such a posh store and an intolerant world. But Jim cares little about that fact, he's too busy reading Sebastian to bother with anyone else.

After another handful of seconds, he presses his hand up to Sebastian's cheek. He won't bring it up again, for the blond is eternally stubborn about this point. He's proven so this morning with this dumb game that consumed the better part of their day and evening. He pulls his hand back and shifts away, letting Sebastian take care of the expenses.

\---

If there was a reaction across the desk, he doesn't notice. He watches Jim and waits and the expression there tells him Jim is thinking. Then the touch of his hand signals his answer and the corner of Sebastian's smile tugs a little harder.

Movement from the corner of his eyes makes him glance away as his card and ID are slid towards him on the polished wood- slid. Not handed. A glance upward with his gaze shows a certain twist in her mouth and he's seen that expression before- people look at Jim that way. It makes him want to cock his arm back and sock them in their disrespectful mouths. But he isn't surprised either because he has no shame and cares not for who wants to spread rumors. He's already certain his father has heard about Jim's presence at the manor and he holds no illusions about what that means when the time comes.

He takes up the plastic and sticks them back into his wallet, signing the receipt she passes along and now, she isn't being so friendly with kind words. Not until Sebastian takes up the bag with Jim's shed attire and she gives them a tight and unwelcome parting.

He doesn't to afford her another glance, he simply turns to allow Jim to lead out of the store.

\---

Jim steps outside first, but there is a pause as he waits for Sebastian to follow, reaching out to link his hand in around the crook of Sebastian's elbow, pale hand settling down against the older boy's forearm. He hadn't missed the change of atmosphere in the shop. It doesn't matter if it’s a practice that has been going on for endless centuries. People are so convinced they know what is wrong, and it's anything that they don't do themselves. And maybe even do, but keep secret.

But Jim doesn't care what strangers think of him. There are more important things for Jim to worry about than turned up noses.

They look dapper, the pair of them, wearing neat suits. Young men now out on the town. They belong, strolling down Piccadilly. Londoners are too uptight and polite to call attention to them if they disapprove, and for once, Jim is glad for that. In Ireland, it'd be much different. There is no filter, no etiquette.

But here, they have a bit of normalcy and Sebastian is intimidating enough to keep naysayers at bay.

Jim tilts his head up to his champion and brushes his fingers along the pressed wool and silk. And he deserves it..oh does he ever. "You look very handsome today, Sebastian. I think I adore you in a suit."

\---

Sebastian is used to petty things. All his life, he has spent time watching people pick each other apart near and far. He's seen noses upturned over dirt on a cuff just as quickly as riots and massacres in the streets of foreign countries that happen to be popular subject matter at the moment. He's seen middle class teenagers spit at their coat tails while passing by Eton and his own tenuous mates pick on students like Jim for being somehow lesser. He lives in a world of money and class and stiff lipped braggarts, and he hates everyone of and lacking status equally. He's just better at keeping it quiet than Jim's eternal scowling at the world.

But Jim scowls less lately. Sometimes, he doesn't scowl at all. No one will understand, they can't. But Jim does and that is why he is something precious, worth all the notes in his bank account, the broken bones, the scars and the stain of blood on Sebastian's hands. He has spent a very long time waiting and now he won't be without.

So never mind what anyone else thinks as they pass by, linked by arms and dressed head to leather toe in finery. Jim reflects a fraction of his true grandeur, he is no longer the boy in baggy clothing sitting on the curbside. They make quite a pair. Sebastian laughs freely when Jim compliments him, and he's been complimented a thousand times before but it's such a strange and darling thing to hear Jim speak fondly. He dips his head for a bit when he looks at Jim, their steps leading them off Jermyn St.

"You are quite dashing, you know. Suits you like a second skin. Are you sure you don't need one for every day of the week?"

\---

Jim scrunches up his nose at the compliment. He didn't expect one in return, because really, it's a rare thing when he offers one, not because he doesn't believe in them, but too often spoke and they lose their charm. It's only when something is truly deserving that he utters his acknowledgment of it and Sebastian frequently catches his attention. So no, he doesn't expect a return on the compliment. Dashing is a word reserved for heroes and swashbucklers in fairytales and now, apparently Jim has joined their ranks.

"It's an appealing offer, but I have no cause to wear such finery. It'd be wasted at my school." And leave him even more of a target. His poverty had already zeroed him out, a sudden loss of it will only draw even more attention.

Jim leans on the tip toes of his new shoes, careful not to scuff them on the sidewalk as they wait at a crosswalk, taking the promenade it seems on the way to the next stop of this silly date that has both of them excited. They are two boys forced to grow up quickly with murder on their hands and yet a simple thing like this has them giddy and smiling.

"But I think you really just want to strip me down and dress me up some more, Mr. Moran."

\---

Yes, dashing. _Dashing_ has an air of danger to it. A mysterious, thrilling sort of charm and when Jim wants to be, he can be utterly charming. Sebastian thinks, perhaps, he may be one of the only people in the world to know that.

He grins again, or maybe, it hasn't quite left him yet. He tisks softly and turns cheek, feigning relent.

"Ah, you've seen right through my plot. I'll have to be more clever than that to get past..." He trails his syllable as he turns sight back to Jim, suddenly thoughtful, startled internally by an occurrence. And for a moment, he scours his brain to find an answer but there isn't one and he realizes it's true.

Turning fully to face Jim, their arms still linked, he ignores the turned crosswalk as other bodies move past them on their way.

"You know... I don't know your full name."

\---

At Sebastian's question, Jim pauses, not that they are moving much, but it's the sort of still that takes over him when he really is thinking. It's a heavy confession. Sebastian doesn't know his last name, hasn't made an effort to learn it, not even before they've had sex in several compromising positions and places. Jim wonders if it’s not the first time Sebastian hasn't asked someone's name. After all, what does the son of an ambassador care about someone wrapping their mouth around his cock for a few minutes.

The moments tick by and Jim realizes he's flustered. There is so much that Sebastian can find out by learning his name. It's the sort of thing that most couples know from the very beginning. It's something Sebastian should know.

Yet Jim panics.

"The light." He says quickly, slipping free of Sebastian's arm and hurrying into the crosswalk, the heels of his new shoes clattering against the pavement. His mind races. He could easily lose Sebastian in the crowds and retreat back to his flat and it's his first real plan, albeit a coward's plan. He hits the opposite curb and tilts his head back to stare at the cloud covered London sky. His rush gains him a few more seconds, that's all.

\---

The stillness is his tell and Sebastian is a bit perplexed by it, because Jim probably didn't mean to, but a look flashed across his face that the blond doesn't understand. Quickly, that confusion becomes stun, a flush of alarm rising up in his chest as Jim turns and takes off quickly across Piccadilly like maybe he was trying to get away from Sebastian.

"J-"

\---

He turns and leans up to catch Sebastian's face as he hits the curb, and presses a breathless kiss to his mouth, in the middle of Piccadilly, where passersby stop and stare and gasp and act offended. And it’s a few more moments that his brain clicks away.

There is nothing. Nothing he can do beyond running and lying.

As the kiss breaks, he closes his eyes and sighs out his surname, his tongue dragging over every syllable.

"Moriarty."

\---

And maybe Jim could have easily lost him amongst the sea of bodies but not without the older boy fast on his heels with all his agile speed first; suit be damned. But Jim halts on the other side and Sebastian almost doesn't stop before colliding into him as if preempting the idea he was going to run before Sebastian could catch up. But he doesn't, he wheels about and they practically crash together anyway because Jim reaches out and Sebastian doesn't hesitate to step in and before he can breathe a question, suddenly they are lip locked, surrounded in agape expressions and uncomfortable glances of foolish, stupid people who don't matter.

Sebastian's instinct is just to kiss; to almost forget why he was hurrying after Jim and for his hands to slip up and touch his pale cheeks and to return the abrupt affection. Maybe that's what Jim was counting on. His mind does a twirl and circles around the name Jim breathes out.

And he doesn't understand what just happened but he's given an answer. James Moriarty. But it's just Jim for short. Or Sternchen, with all the affection he has.

"Moriarty." He repeats quietly, effortlessly. He smiles again, a bit like a fool, momentarily oblivious to where they are or all the eyes on them. "Moriarty and Moran." There's a small, airy laugh. "What a set we are."

\---

"Don't," Jim says immediately and he's not smiling. He steps back and then a few steps more, unreadable. That blankness is back, layers of masks and stone so thick that Jim is lost behind them, and the effect is only strengthened by the crisp lines of the well fitted suit.

He hates that name. It links him back to his family, when really he'd prefer such connections to be severed permanently. How Sebastian cannot see the gaping wound he has reopened inside of Jim is beyond the smaller boy, but then Sebastian has long been stubborn when it comes to reading signs from Jim. And truthfully it's not his fault for asking such a basic question, for asking any question at all, but Jim douses himself in such mystery, it’s a chore to learn anything that isn't glaringly obvious, floating on the surface.

Jim's head oscillates on his neck, turning slowly, and then his body follows, whipping around as he turns and walks with a guarded slouch to his shoulders, hands thrust into his pockets and teeth denting his bottom lip as he worries at it.

\---

He can almost feel the chill break out over Jim's skin, except it’s only an illusion coupling itself with the expression he hasn't seen in a while. It's dark, an endless void you know isn't empty but you can't see inside of and it shoves him out so fast he could lose the air in his lungs. He almost does. His hand, lingering on Jim's cheek, is gone in the next moment.

It stings. It always does. It bites more sharply than old, solid wood on his ribcage and it burns a bruise twice as big except it’s so far under the skin it can't be seen. Because he can't, he _cannot_ risk getting locked out. But he knows that look, he's seen it plenty before and it threatens to put Jim behind a vault door rivaling the Bank of England.

It isn't hard to put together the pieces of what just happened but he has to do it quickly because Jim turns away from him and stiff shoulders look even harder when your clothes fit proper. There's a knot in his throat he has to swallow around. He should know better than asking questions outright, but this one, a simple thing? And it occurs to him, so simply, that Jim hates his name. Because Sebastian understands that feeling even if their hatred has grown differently in their hearts. Whatever that name means to him, he hates it, and unlike Sebastian, who has been forced to terms, maybe Jim can live around it. Outside of it. Until just now.

But Sebastian knows nothing. He hasn't a single clue to any other part of Jim except that he loves the stars and plays piano and he's a Gemini born on May 20th outside of Dublin, and he speaks at least 7 languages because he's bloody brilliant- but he knows nothing of who he was and where he came from; what he came from. Why no one seems to care that he disappears for days on end over holiday with a boy he hardly knows.

And maybe he should want to know those answers. But he doesn't. Because it doesn't matter where he came from, it matters who he is now.

Sebastian's feet follow after Jim whether he's agreed to it or not because he knows on every level of consciousness that he cannot let him go. When his forward brain finally catches up to him, he's trying not to panic on the idea that a simple minute could ruin their entire day- the next several. Again, again, again, a threat. Except this one is internal and he can't just destroy it with his hands.

Those hands that reach out to take Jim's arm, gentle on his wrist, to stop him amidst the crowd and round in front of him on long legs with long strides.

"Jim." He calls the name he knows is accepted and stops in his path, but it's uncertain at best whether he can really keep him there at all.

"I'm sorry." He gets out the words quickly, as if time is precious and any second Jim could lash out and end it. "I know a thing about hating something you can't change. It will _never_ come up again."

 That's a promise.

\---

Jim draws in a quick breath as Sebastian's fingers close about his wrist. He stops, because Sebastian is solid and strong, and if he wants to block Jim's path, he can do so effortlessly. The apology surprises him, because his stubborn nature certainly doesn't come into play here. He can go for hours if it’s a game, but at the first sign he's done something to upset Jim, he crumbles instantly.

He releases his lip from its worry between teeth, and looks up at Sebastian's clear blue eyes, brighter than the London sky has ever been. He breathes out a long sigh, and he's helpless, like Sebastian is helpless. The blond is desperate in a way most men aren't. It’s not just sex. It’s not, and maybe for the first time Jim really sees it.

Because Sebastian is so worried he's done something to lose Jim and the look on his face is one of pure devastation.

Jim turns his hand in Sebastian's grip and strokes fingers across the inside of his wrist.

"Take me to the cinema. I hope your taste in movies isn't atrocious."

\---

He's holding his breath, he just doesn't know it. And things are happening around them, people are still staring and some are making faces, cars drive the streets, a bus runs by with tourists, birds travel the smog and his heart beats fast and hard but he doesn't know any of it.

And what happens is small and unlike most things about them, it's rather gentle, but Jim's fingers brush his wrist, exposed above the cuffs of finery, and he breathes again. He's given an order and it takes a moment but surely Jim can watch it with his very own eyes as it sinks in because steadily Sebastian's face relaxes and then he's smiling again like he can't control it.

"I hope our choices aren't atrocious." His body relaxes from its tension and he moves, arm sliding into a link with Jim's as he steps back to his side. It's a question if Jim will allow it but he intends them to walk together again; a proper couple on a proper date that he wants nothing and no one to interrupt.


	21. Stutter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suddenly I'm thinkin' about no one else.
> 
> The story of Moriarty and Moran, from the very beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This will be updated every Saturday!**
> 
> This is my favorite chapter. 
> 
> Special thanks goes out to [Hippano](http://hippano.tumblr.com/) for all her support and beta reading!  
> And [Bizarreserenity](http://bizarreserenity.tumblr.com/) for help with editing!

It's good. Jim drops the subject and just like that, so does Sebastian. It's what he wants, and Sebastian knows well. He lets the blond take his arm back and falls in step beside the boy who has become a boyfriend as of this morning. And that's worth more than a little spat. This is someone who wants to keep him on his arm, wants this date, wants Jim.

And he can ignore the hatred of his name, his background, his past, because he wants more than anything to create a new life.

With Sebastian.

He walks with Sebastian through Piccadilly, into the large glass doors of the cinemas, looking at the movie posters curiously as the other boy buys their tickets. Jim doesn't care which film is chosen; it's his first after all. Eyes flit to the refreshments and he's quite sure popcorn must be purchased as well. It seems law for a date, doesn't it?

\---

Scouring choices for movies, the decision becomes rather easy against a backdrop of obvious and predictable. It's little known, but in truth, he loves movies and maybe that is something of the storyteller in him. On holidays past, he's spent hours here in this very cinema watching every movie available just to be out of the house. But that doesn't mean he can't predict nearly every turn of ridiculous romantic drivel or the ending of every horror film that usually involves screaming women cuddling with their boyfriends. He prefers the action movies, which hardly guise themselves in plot at all; and usually no screaming girls. For a second, he thinks about Jim cuddling up in the crook of his arm, hiding face from some overly gory scene and it's so bloody ridiculous he almost snorts laughter to himself.

So, it's an easy choice: the newest Bond film, _Licence to Kill_. He wonders Jim's thoughts while buying a bag of popcorn, because he never watches without, leaving out the butter for case of Jim's picky eating habits. A soda is off the table, it's water because he knows Jim will drink it. And whatever Jim may want to add because he does pause to ask him before paying it all away.

And when they get into the theater, Sebastian chooses the very back row of seats because his eyes are prime and he's no reason to think Jim's are not. It's the place most couples pick because it's choice for private snuggling- and they are, for one day at least, just a proper, ordinary couple.

\---

Jim tilts his head at the choice; it makes sense. Bond films are spy thrillers, filled with action and guns and pretty faces, and Sebastian seems to admire all three. If it holds the older boy's attention, then Jim will gladly indulge, though he'll no doubt figure out the plot in a matter of minutes. He has not read Ian Fleming's work but he wonders if Sebastian has. He pictures them reading books together and discussing plots, laying all over each other in a mound of pillows and blankets and bodies. It's more appealing than he could have ever thought.

As they move on to the refreshment counter, Jim takes notes that Sebastian picks out things based on what he prefers and it's flattering in only a way simple things can be. He has no amendments to make to the order, or else he won't be able to eat dinner. He follows Sebastian into the theater, up ramps and stairs, towards the seats at the top of the auditorium. He'd rather not have people all around him anyways.

They settle into their seats and Jim unbuttons his jacket to sit comfortably, stuffing the bag of old clothes under his seat. His hands curl around Sebastian's bicep and he leans into the older boy, relishing the dim lights and the closeness, now that he can have it again. He wasn't unaffected. He's become used to the touches, even as cautious as they might be. But this is a proper date and touching is allowed and welcomed.

The lights dim further overhead and Jim leans his head against Sebastian's shoulder, focusing in on the previews that with a mild interest that he wouldn't afford for anything that wasn't important. Because this date with Sebastian is important to him.

\---

With Jim leaning into him, hand curled around a toned arm under all the thick fabrics, he turns cheek to smile and fingers slip over Jim's, squeezing gently. He pays the trailers half a mind, because they tend to reveal entire plot lines and it ruins a bit of the fun when he goes into movies knowing next to nothing and guesses the entire plot. But he suspects he won't have many leisure days for a while and it's pointless because his ears still work. The other half of his attention is on Jim, watching him in dim, flickering lighting, reveling silently in the recapture of their afternoon together before it could get away from them.

A head resting on his shoulder makes him smile a little more before bringing his attention to the movie as the credits unravel on screen. He doesn't care much for who is in the film, so he finds his mind wandering off until the opening scene begins. It’s ridiculous just how pleasant he feels. Dangerous, even. It hadn't occurred to him before, seeing scenes like this one in other movies, or listening to other boys tell stories about their summer girlfriends; never once did it occur to him to want it. But he’s happy. The reality of it is, it has nothing to do with where they are or what they are doing. Jim smiles, Jim presses up close, Jim seems happy- not just playing a game or teasing, no sugary sweet tactics- just happy. That's all that matters. That's what's important.

And in the first 15 minutes he has already decided where the story is going, maybe not to its very end, but certainly this arch and he can guess that it took Jim even less time. Amidst the dialogue exchange not a quarter into the movie, he mutters a predicted line almost mockingly under his breath just before it's said and looks half amused when he's right. All the while, he does not disconnect their touch; for the first time he presses close to someone during a film- so his attention starts to wane from it.

\---

Jim has effortlessly figured out the plot in a handful of minutes and sits through the theme song with only mild interest in how the movie will play out. Apparently, after a bit, Sebastian has caught on as well, for he is repeating back lines and scoffing at the dialogue. Jim grins in the dark. He adores the fact that the older boy is wonderfully clever. And handsome. And sitting so close in the dark and much more appealing than any film.

He turns more towards the man and shifts in his seat, tucking his legs under his arse and tilting up to press lazy kisses across Sebastian's neck, not really enough to distract, but knowing Sebastian, anything Jim does is enough. Pale fingers slip over a broad chest, under the silk tie and thumbing over buttons that slip free with a bit of manipulation. One set, it’s enough that he can press his hand deeper inside so he can stroke skin instead, fingers drawing lazy circles as he peers at the screen from beneath the shadow of Sebastian's chin.

\---

He can feel Jim shift beside him, keeping his eyes to the screen ahead even when his attention immediately begins to shift to the motion of a little figure. One corner of that sharkish mouth begins pulling, as lips touch skin and fingers get explorative, even though it is a spot they are well familiar with.

At first he tilts his chin just a bit, giving more exposure to his neck, half obscured by pressed collar. But only minutes pass with cool fingers on bare, warm skin and Jim's breath lingers against fresh shaven jawline and he can't pretend he hasn't desperately missed touching. Really touching. He inclines his cheek at slight and his fingers travel up between them to catch under Jim's chin unhurriedly, creating only enough space between them to find their mouths together and it's _taking_ again but he doesn't hesitate this time. His thumb strokes over the ridge of jawline, fingertips sliding down Jim's throat to the rim of his shirt and it's a slow, firm kiss as if they were stealing away a quiet moment.

\---

Jim doesn't have long to explore in the dark before Sebastian takes hold of his face and is bringing him close for a proper kiss, and the movie has ceased to matter. His thin fingers tense over the center of Sebastian's chest and he returns the kiss with just as much fervor as the blond gives it. The aren't exactly alone, but they might as well be, with the theater nearly empty and the few other patrons transfixed on the movie that plays overhead.

Jim leans in closer and he's hindered by the arm of the stadium seat. With a huff breathed into the kiss, he reaches down and pushes the arm up and out of the way with a snap. With that obstacle out of the way, he climbs from his seat and settles in Sebastian's lap, pressing up firmly into the kiss that he hasn't let break for one moment. Another button flicks open, and then another, and more of Sebastian is exposed to roam his hands over. The tie is flicked to the side, out of his way. His hands are greedy, slipping across collar bones and pectorals, lingering to tug at nipples and then skim down further, mapping out mental charts as if a half day of denial has somehow made him forget the layout of every inch and he must memorize them all over again.

Gunshots sound above them from the action film still playing in the auditorium, but not even that draws his attention away from the press of lips and tongue.

\---

Jim moves and Sebastian responds, shifting and leaning to keep their contact as the other boy crawls from his own seat into the blond’s lap. Without a glance, he abandons the uneaten popcorn in the chair beside them just in time for Jim to settle, kernels spilling as it falls to the side on the cushioning, but neither notice and the sound goes quiet under the noise of the soundtrack. The movie be damned, it has lost them both.

Immediately hands are in motion, he pulls Jim in a fraction like it’s instinct, leaving just enough space for roaming hands to go undisturbed. The good set of fingers splay open and drag down expensive fabric, sliding under the cute arse no longer hidden by heavy fabrics two sizes too big for that slender body. As cool digits make their way over his tanned skin, he breathes into their kiss, gasping mildly at the pinch, trying to maintain the slow fever of their mouths to keep them smoldering and out of notice. Tongues dip and dive and slide against each other and he retreats only to bite at Jim's bottom lip, pink, plush and too tempting against his own.

But his hand won't stay idle, the plastered arm, hidden largely by finery now, keeps its place firm around the other boy's tiny waist while the right makes its way around and eases up the center of Jim's chest. Calloused fingers hook on silk tie and begin pulling it loose from its snug home around Jim's neck, trying to get at the buttons which clasp collar against his throat.

\---

Jim gasps, but he’s unsure if it's caused by the curve of a hand under his arse, or the crush of his lower lip between Sebastian's teeth. He arches up and delves his tongue into Sebastian's mouth, flicking in to twine across the twin muscle inside. Jim is not normally one for kissing, too impatient. But you'd never know that now, with the way he's devouring Sebastian's mouth, gliding sharp little teeth across lips wet by the saliva shared between them.

As Sebastian's hand slips up to pluck free his tie, he gives a noise in the back of his throat that's only mildly indignant. He's loathe to peel off any piece of clothing, the suit now his most precious piece. But he doesn't stop Sebastian's work, letting his fingers endeavor to bare pale flesh that prickles in the cool air of the theater. His own hands abandon the expanse of the blond's torso, and slid up to cup his jaw, holding steady a face that's smooth and angular and perfect, even with its scar, because Jim is the one who put it there.

The kiss breaks, or perhaps it’s better to say it moves because he pulls back to lick the length of that scar, sucking the corner of his lip before he lets it go with a soft pop and moves back down to sit solidly on the older boy's lap, trailing his mouth down to suck bruises down the stretch of tanned throat that peeks above a still fastened collar.

\---

His fingers spread on Jim's throat, feeling over the stretched tendons and down to the dip of his collarbone with a light press of his thumb. He makes no effort to impede the turn of attention, letting his head be tilted and moved to make access for the mouth that guides away from his own. Sebastian exhales slowly as Jim teases the scar, fingers slipping under layers to the small shoulder and up again to circle around the back of his neck so the shirt fabric is splayed open. But Jim has beaten him to the thought as he moves down Sebastian’s throat, so all the blond can do is tilt his head back and let him.

It's a fleeting spark of frustration all over again that his other hand is not of more use with its inability to bend wrist but still the fingers find their way under the jacket to get even a fraction closer to Jim's body beneath all that crisp, new clothing. He wants him closer but doesn't risk interrupting Jim's trail of affection, settling for the reroute of his good hand to fall wayside and find one of Jim's thighs to crawl fingers across in firm, groping touches. His pulse races when he draws in air with parted lips and lets it go in a hushed claim of Jim's name.

\---

Jim is the cause of that frustration, he created it, preventing Sebastian's full use of his arm. Some might have said it was a punishment for him as well, but the blond may very well have overwhelmed Jim far too quickly had he use of both limbs. The hindrance doesn't seem truly to bother Sebastian, for he's groping Jim with plenty of mobility, touching waist and thigh and working under clothes and who even knows what's going on in the movie any longer.

As Seb mutters his name, Jim leans back and puts a finger to his lips, shushing him with a faint hiss. His eyes glitter mischievously and he leans back even further, away from that broad chest until his shoulders hit the back of the row of seats before them. His mouth is a red gash, swollen from kisses and it curves into a smug ‘v’, tugging at dimples in the center of his pale cheeks.

"You have to be quiet Sebastian...this is a movie theater." He whispers in a mocking tone, teeth catching the bottom of his smile.

\---

Jim is leaned back and practically on display, expensive shirt unbuttoned at the top to give a peek of pale skin almost glowing in the dark, his tie loose and draping on slender shoulders, the lip biting smile of a deviant on his pretty mouth. Sebastian must have a look on his face as well, something edging dangerously towards a lack of concern. They're in public and that _should_ matter, but he's used up an awful lot of his willpower today and ravishing Jim here and now sounds awfully like a need, not just a want.

He'll be quiet alright, when his mouth is too busy to make any noise.

Sebastian leans forward, restricted hand sitting on one hip and the good set snaking up to slip beneath the half parted material, nudging the collar open wider to expose Jim's neck where his mouth goes immediately. Under the line of his shirt, that's where he begins his assault, teeth and tongue and suction content to return favors in leaving marks on the fair skin as fingers trace protrusions of bone and tendon that shape the plane.

Honestly, he's the least interesting of the Bonds to date anyway.

\---

Despite his words of protest, there are none now, just a sigh as Sebastian's mouth finds its home against his neck. His small body undulates upon the lap where he's perched, arching up into the skim of fingers that pry away more of his shirt to make room for the drag of tongue and teeth.

And he lets Sebastian do as he pleases, lets him touch and taste, and all the things they've been without. They've a title now and really it should have been properly celebrated this morning. Save them perhaps a bit of dignity. But it’s dark and the movie has nearly another hour to play over the heads of two boys who could care less.

Jim shifts forwards and slinks his spidery fingers into Sebastian's hair, grabbing handfuls of the slicked back strands and using it as an anchor to pull himself forwards. A tongue rolls across his lips and warm breath bathes over Sebastian's ear, that Irish lilt nothing more than a whisper.

"...Just don't ruin the suit, 'Bastian."

\---

They are undoubtedly restricted; where they are, what they are wearing, efforts that must be made not to make a sound- and bloody hell will he miss the sounds- but he's going to get away with whatever he can. At the moment, it’s leaving fresh blossoms of pink on porcelain, nipping, biting, sucking none too tender over spots that had begun to fade and spots untouched. He'll freckle Jim's supple skin in marks of claim because he expects the other boy to leave more than a single scar to last a lifetime.

He's making up for time lost, precious seconds and minutes and hours where he stupidly upheld a game he knew he'd never win and had every reason to fail. Reasons don't matter anymore.

Hand on a thin hip, he presses Jim on his lap, exhaling against his abused, moist skin when fingers go through his hair, quiet Irish temptation giving him an order he will follow. Rough digits rub against the collarbone and down, unfastening more buttons in an adept twist of fingertips that seek out more of him, but he never so much as untucks the shirt from trouser belt, only slips his hand beneath the cotton layer to touch his stomach.

And that's not enough, is it? But everything around them is a limitation, of seats and space and layers on layers. Sebastian huffs, a soft growl in his throat, impatient and wanting more of Jim. His hand retreats from under the finery and snaps around small frame, catching his upper back in open palm as he turns in the stadium seat and lowers half of Jim, rather quickly, across the cushion of the seat that was his until he made perch on Sebastian. A plastered wrist is useful in shoving up the next seat's armrest just barely above Jim's head, simple precaution while he shifts for comfort, Jim's legs still half straddling his waist as knee bends under his weight on the second seat.

Their silhouettes disappear from the seat rows, as if they were never there.

\---

It’s just the right mixture of pleasure and pain, and Jim has to fight not to make the noise he wishes to, gasps and breathy moans as Sebastian sucks at old bruises and makes his skin tingle, sparks of electricity dancing up his spine. Those fingers press against Sebastian's scalp, flexing and curling in to find purchase in the thick blond strands. His body is so frail, so easily manipulated, that the older boy can move him as he likes, shifting limb and head to tilt as he pleases. And amazingly, Jim lets him, with no sign that his patience is waning.

Of course, even Jim giving himself over completely, it's not enough for Sebastian. With an abrupt jerk of his arm, Jim is gathered up and laid out across seats that are in no way meant for this. In fact, the chair starts to fold in with his slight weight balanced poorly across it, until Sebastian dips down to add his bulk as well. Jim's hands slip from hair to shoulder and he's a bit too distracted to raise an eyebrow in question to exactly what it is Sebastian intends to do with him in this position. But soon that solid body is sinking on him and his mind stops supplying anything to do with wit, until all that is left is that wonderful static only Sebastian can provide.

\---

It's in no way ideal, for either of them really, but that remains unimportant when no protests are made. Arching his body over Jim's in a bend of spine and long torso, his arm slips out from under Jim's back and he finds his mouth on more skin peeking from between parted layers of gray fabric. Tip of tongue traces shapes of bone beneath the skin, making way down, down, to find old marks written across fair skin where too many ribs are defined.

He's greedy, always wanting, needing more as if starved for too long. He'll leave marks all over Jim's body and turn his pale canvas into a map of the stars he belongs with, but it's a slow, ravenous burn because he takes his time with each and every spot. Yet he's getting further down midsection and a thought crosses his mind that leaves him grinning against the skin he nips, fingers brushed up under shirt fabric yet again but now he gives the crisp layer a careful and slow tug, pulling it up loose from its perfect tuck.

\---

Each bite and suck does burn its mark on fair Irish skin, and it's quick to bruise, quick to blemish. Sebastian could spell out his name in little nibbles and nips, and it'd show up like someone had taken a felt tipped marker and signed away at the dotted line. But the blond isn't that clever at the moment, though to be fair, neither is Jim. He's distracted, and now he has to press a fist into his mouth to keep from crying out, because _oh_ does he want to.

Suddenly Sebastian pulls back and Jim has a moment to breathe before blinking up at the older boy in inquiry, only to have his shirt tugged free and rucked further up his chest. He gives a whine of protest at the manhandling of the finery, but how much complaint does he have while Sebastian has him aching and hard. Jim arches up off the seats, impatient, and twists his narrow hips with a wriggle, imploring Sebastian to continue his molestation.

\---

He may not be the most gentle, but he does take care not to rough the layers of clothing he seeks to get past, keeping to Jim's single demand. The shirt is left undone and when Jim bends his body upward, it falls open to reveal the whole stretch of chest and stomach and peek of lily white hips above the belt line. The sight is almost tempting enough to stop and take advantage of but he simply relishes it with naught but a sigh and continues on his course.

He gets trousers unfastened in a few gestures of his fingers and catches the waistline to peel them down carefully just far enough to expose boxers tented beneath. A single digit hooks on elastic band and lifts the flimsy layer that remains, tugging them to join high on Jim's supple thighs where they won't be mussed any further than the droplets of arousal already dappled on the soft threads.

There's a momentary pause, a look that strides over the bend and twist of little body in an awkward position, down that fair Irish figure and Jim is already hard and wanting and that only makes Sebastian more eager to have him. Fingers touch first, stroking down to the base where they curl into the dark patch of hair as he leans in. It’s just the tip of his tongue that starts against the shaft, drawing upward to the sheath with kisses and soft pressure, leaving a trail of moisture to cool. Wet muscle dips beneath the foreskin and rolls around the tip of Jim's cock, withdrawing to nibble gently on the excess before returning to do it again. He won't tease Jim long, not when quiet strains and dearly does he miss the sounds the other boy must try to bite down.

\---

The cool air of the theater hits the heat flushed skin of Jim's groin, and he sucks in a hissing breath. It’s not too hard to figure out what Sebastian intends to do with that wide grinned stretched over his lips, the man is obsessed with touching and tasting, and that's not going to stop once he gets below the belt. Sure enough, fingers skip lower and delve into dark curls, threading through the coarse hair till they ring around the base of the Irish boy's cock, holding it steady for the descent of Sebastian's attentive mouth.

Jim whimpers against his hand and he hates not being able to scream out his pleasure. But he'd rather not be chased out of the cinema with his pants pushed down his hips, so he feverishly licks and bites at his finger to shut himself up. He twists as Sebastian suckles and laves at his foreskin, pushing at the extension of skin to get to the precome slicked glands beneath. Heat pools in his abdomen and he arches into the mouth. Oh this is so illegal, and therefore endlessly thrilling. But he doesn't want Sebastian to draw it out and leave him exposed for terribly long either.

The hand not forced into his mouth moves back into Sebastian's hair, grabbing hold of the product hardened strands, and tugging, reminding his paramour. _Be quick._

\---

He knows he doesn't have time to properly savor Jim the way he might have preferred but he neither wants to overwhelm sensitivity in seconds flat. The hand in his hair is more than reminder, it's alcohol on fire and he obliges the bidding, capturing the sheathed head in an embrace between lips. He slicks his tongue over the apex before tilting back with a soft pull of suction nearly audible popping free beneath the clatter of bullet play above their careless heads.

His hand slides up from the base of Jim's cock to peel back the tender foreskin and reveal the crown proper, catching moisture he's left behind and stroking back down to brace the length once more. A circle of hungry tongue licks up precome and he envelopes flushed cock in a warm, eager mouth. Pink muscle grinds and rubs the glans within tight quarters, precursor to taking more of the length into his mouth.

Sebastian hums softly, the sound getting muted beneath the action of the movie the way the vibration surrounding Jim does not. With all of that flourish out of the way, he wastes no more time with the demand of hurry, straight to the point of firm sucking and lips pressing and tongue doing it's best to dance around the welcomed guest as he bobs up and down Jim's cock and the fact they are in public stops nothing. Not even the glances he steals at the writhing Irish boy trying desperately not to make a sound at the sake of his poor finger, because if he can't have the sound, he'll settle for the sight.

\---

Is there a better soundtrack to experience then the sounds of gunfire and screams? Maybe for other people. Normal people. But something about it just excites Jim further, makes his fingers curl tighter in Sebastian's hair so that his nails bite into the towheaded scalp. It makes his teeth dent into the tender skin of his finger, and the blood rushing through his heart pump all that more quickly down to his cock, which is currently engulfed down his _boyfriend's_ gullet. The random thought makes him giddy, and even as he squirms, he laughs around the fingers pushed into his mouth, just as some poor soul above screams and thrashes in the throes of death.

It should have been upsetting that Sebastian was so good at this, but Jim has given up worrying over the older boy's prior conquests. They no longer matter, and Jim is the one reaping the benefits of Sebastian's whorish ways. He had dropped to his knees and _begged_ and Jim is sure there wasn't a man or woman before him who had ever gotten Sebastian to do that. There wouldn't be anyone else after, Jim would make sure of that.

His hand slides down from Sebastian's hair as his hips give little stuttering jerks, fingers curling around the side of the blond's throat. Eyes half lidded with pleasure as he watches Sebastian, he has a curious thought, the inky lace of lashes fluttering up as he quite suddenly slams his hips up, forcing himself further down Sebastian's throat. His fingers press eagerly against the soft tissue of the older boy's neck, feeling his muscles bulge rapidly as he tries to swallow around the intrusion and not choke. Jim has to chew at his fingers to keep from dissolving into delirious giggles and his grip around Sebastian's neck tightens as he seizes control, fucking the forcibly receptive mouth in an effort to speed things along.

\---

There is no history of someone having been brave enough to try little more than resting hand on his head, never mind pushing, pulling hair, pressing into his throat. But Jim was like no one had ever been and no one ever would be and when fingers slide to his neck, wrapping around the vulnerable flesh, there's a thrill unlike anything he's known that runs through Sebastian's well dressed form.

When hips jerk and Jim hits the back of his throat unexpectedly, Sebastian tries to swallow around him and take it but there's no grace to it, only the desperate effort not to clench his chiseled jaw. Spidery digits squeeze and cut against the muscles urgently trying not to be strangled and yet fighting to keep his mouth wrapped around Jim's cock, electricity snapping through him both in warning and excitement. Trying not to choke is more than just an instinct because he's suffocating all sounds he might have made, but still they escape in soft gagging groans that vibrate against the length of cock he's got rammed down his throat in repeated, hurried thrusts of gorgeous little hips.

Air supply starts to become precious, lungs burn for it, his throat tightens up around its intruder and Sebastian's fingers clasp gently about the base of length he's forced to take. It's absolutely fucking obscene, vivid blue practically welling with moisture as control is lost to Jim's dangerous whims of pleasure and bloody fucking hell, the thrill goes straight to Sebastian's own cock.

Suddenly Moran learns that having your throat fucked to the tune of gunfire and dramatic music is particularly divine under the threat of asphyxiation. Who knew?

\---

Oh isn't it nice when he swallows and sputters, throat clenching tight around Jim's cock. Thin fingers can feel the way Sebastian's gullet convulses as it tries to push out the intruder, a natural reaction to..well...being choked. Jim is on high now, eyes flashing in the dark theater as digits bite into the tanned skin, smearing at the dark marks he sucked there minutes before.

He gives up trying to muffle himself now, for his second hand lifts to join the other, spit slicked fingers circling round the thick corded muscle of Sebastian's throat and pushing into his windpipe as Jim bucks up, forcing himself into the warm wet mouth with determination. It's not a sloppy stutter, but focused snaps of his hips. Sebastian isn't sucking him off any longer, Jim is fucking him, taking what he wants with deep thrusts.

Lips part and the sound that falls from them can only be called a purr. They smuggle in a lecherous curve, and he can feel something vital flutter like a caged bird under his fingertips as he squeezes tight, holding Sebastian in place as Jim starts to reach his peak, moans melding perfectly with the blood curdling scream of someone who has been ripped apart by gunfire. His hips stutter like the rattle of a chain gun, and without warning, he spills down Sebastian's throat in a hot gush.

Jim keens as the orgasm hits him and he finally lets go of Sebastian's throat to fall back and stretch out over the stadium seats, laughing a high pitched, breathy giggle.

\---

Throat deep with cock in his mouth makes it easy to feel the pulse of orgasm working through the shaft as Jim comes but there's no advantage to it when you've no control over the tip all but hitting your tonsils. Something of a groan rattles Sebastian's throat and he gags around throbbing Irish prick, warmth and salt jetting down constricted cavern of muscle and all he can do is swallow desperately. Eyes are wrenched shut and Jim releases his throat, taking in a sharp breath from his nose but he doesn't pull back right away because interrupting the placement of stream will only rile up the reflex another time. Warmth drowns his aching esophagus as the sound of Jim's laughter flutters amongst the noise of the film.

Sebastian tilts back when the twitch produces nothing but droplets and the sound is utterly salacious as he pulls free, fingers still curled about Jim's softening cock when he reaches his other hand up and presses the sister set gently over Jim's pretty mouth to quiet him. He's biting his own bottom lip, holding in a laugh when he lifts his head up to look at the other boy, swallowing anything lingering in his throat so he can gasp for precious, lovely air. Sebastian drops tousled blond again, smothering reddened mouth against the sleeve of his outstretched arm to mute his gasping breath of laughter, euphoric in a different way than his paramour.

When he thinks he has the sound under control, he picks up his head again, still heaving for breath as he stares down at the small figure sprawled over him and two seats. His expression is just... lecherous is too soft a word.

\---

Jim's eyes slip shut for a moment as pure bliss washes over him, so many bits and bobbles inside of him completely satisfied in a way that leaves him tired down to his bones in the most amazing sense. It's not just getting off sexually...that bit of violence is like the sweet topping on a delectable cake and it’s made the orgasm the best he's had yet.

He becomes aware of the press of fingers to his mouth, and his lips part, tongue flicking out to draw them into his mouth. His cock's going soft in Sebastian's other hand, but his hazy interest is only focused on this one. He sucks at the digits pressing against his palate. His tongue curls around the smooth nail, and the rougher pads, starting to grow callouses from gripping rugby balls.

Hands that had been gripping Sebastian's throat and squeezing the life out of him now gingerly circle the blond's wrist, holding it steady and he fellates two of the older boy's fingers, slurping at the dribble of saliva that slides down his bottom lip and dribbles down his chin. His overstimulated body is craving the contact that sends tingles and goosebumps tenting across his pale skin.

\---

Sebastian just... just sighs, a heavy, lustful breath. His wrist is caught and he can't feel it because the plaster of his cast steals the sensation from him but he knows it's there and he wishes for it on his skin. His fingers are another matter, the nerves work perfectly and he can feel softness and moisture on the calloused tips, watching Jim like meat dangled on a string in front of a starving tiger.

A tongue slides over his lips, slow and thorough, not because they need the moisture but because a taste lingers there and he's greedy enough to want every bit of it. Unfurling the other set of digits carefully, he gives the elastic band of Jim's boxers a tug back up those hips to cover up the spent cock and maybe that's less about trying to protect the suit as it is protecting Jim from his insatiable thirst.

Then he moves and it's sudden, the dive of his good arm under Jim's limp body, inclining forward, interrupting the treatment of his digits as he snaps the smaller frame sharply against him, knocking his own breath out of its weighted rhythm. Mouth crushes against Jim's jaw, whispering feverishly, voice husky from the abuse of his throat and the bordering aggression of his arousal.

"If we weren't in this cinema, I'd have you right now."

And he practically growls, a deep moan against the pale skin.

\----

Jim gasps as the hand is wrenched from his grip and suddenly he's jerked up into strong arms and plastered against a broad chest. His eyes flutter open and they've still got that lazy haze of climax that has him reacting slow, like he's suspended in syrup. Warm, wet mouth slides across his jaw and a growling whisper pushes against his skin.

And Jim laughs again, because poor, poor Sebastian.

"If we weren't this, if we weren't that... Oh 'Bastian~ Always making excuses to deny yourself what you want."

Jim's hand snakes up and grabs a hold of a handful of slicked blond hair and tugs it harshly, pulling Sebastian's head back and exposing his neck for Jim to look at, admiring the bruising finger marks already darkening on the skin. He tilts in and licks one of the dark red stripes.

His small body gyrates with a twist of his hips, and oh he is so tender it hurts, but that doesn't stop him from grinding down on Sebastian's lap. "Tell me...tell me exactly what you'd do to me."

\---

Jim is something devilish from his dreams, every bit a fantasy and yet endlessly unpredictable and Sebastian is hopelessly, desperately….

Fingers pull and jerk his head and he hisses through teeth, but it thrills him like the tongue that traces tender lines on his abused throat. Sultry Irish voice in his ear and if Jim wants to hear, he has a throat full of words to give him even when he knows, it's for himself _._

His voice is deep and he growls, syllables articulated sharp on his tongue, hushed in breathy whispers of filth under the film's dramatic brink.

"I'll peel every layer of that suit off of your body so I can see every bit of you. Spread you open and slick you up nice and proper- I'll use my fingers first, cause I'm not an animal, Jim--" he pauses to take in a deep breath that exhales his heavy words. " _not. yet._ "

The words slide on his tongue, slow and affectionate and almost longing. "But I do like to watch you squirm~" Pink muscle dips into the corner of his mouth and slides across his scarred upper lip, feeling the permanent residence of Jim before he continues.

"I'll stretch that cute little arse; 1, 2, 3... Maybe all 4, make sure you can take it all. I'll know you’re ready when you’re _panting_. You may not beg for it, Jim, but you'll want it. You’ll demand it... And I'll always follow your orders."

Jim grinding on his lap doesn't go without effect, it leaves him gasping every few words, hands grabbing and pinning the other boy tight against his chest and just barely does their skin touch between open shirt and undone buttons. One set of fingers slides against finery still unset on Jim's hips, groping that adorable arse under lewd discussion. He can't help pressing up against the friction, layers on layers in the way and yet he's so hard and these trousers fit clean that it practically doesn't matter. It's reminiscent of the first, but his words are neither caught up on history nor halted by the unbearable ache they suffer him in the present.

"I'll bend you over and press you down so you can feel every inch of my cock slide in...I'll get even deeper like that. And I will miss those hands Jim, those fingers on my skin... But I'll fuck you until you’re breathless and screaming in Gaelic."

It must be revealing, laid out that way in husky words he can just barely keep together between his need for air. He craves Jim like his body craves the blood rushing furiously through him. But most telling must be how he needs Jim to want him.

"And what are you going to say, Jim?"

\---

Jim listens to Sebastian pour out his wants with half lidded eyes, his tongue drawn back within its warm cavity as he surveys the damage he's tone as the older boy croaks out his response, making the muscles move and jump in a wonderfully pleasing way as they struggle to bring life the lecherous thoughts that swirl in Sebastian's brain. It's nearly poetry, because it’s not the words, it’s the desperation building beneath them. Sebastian needs to possess Jim, even though he's breathless and straining, clinging with every fiber of his being.

He's pressed to Sebastian in a way that damns the possibility of molecules between them, but still he manages to shift, pressing a knee down between Sebastian's legs and forcing the thighs apart. He savagely presses up and in against the hard outline of the blond's erection, none too gentle as he rubs against it. But Sebastian's never wanted gentle, he wants Jim, and if he knew any better, he would have run far away with that first scar, instead of always waiting for more.

He finishes his stream of filth, and turns query on Jim, whose smile has split his face like a red gash. The boy arches up, even as he grinds his knee down, and surely that much pressure is painful. But his sick fuck of a boyfriend probably enjoys that too. Fingers still clutched tight in Sebastian's hair to jerk his head back, Jim looms over that pretty face, a grey halo of light surrounding his dark figure as the movie plays behind him, illuminating him like some unholy effigy.

"I'd say....what makes you so sure, it's not going to be me fucking you first, _Sebastian_?"

His lips split wider and his teeth are sharp white daggers in the shadow.

\---

With his head jerked back, the exposed tissue of his throat flexes all the more when he strains to hiss through his teeth, the pressure pushing up against his aching cock, pain mingling against the pleasure of friction until they are perfectly the same and bloody maddening. His body is tense, almost vibrating with energy and when Jim grinds even harder, Sebastian's teeth break away from their clench and he gasps and groans open mouthed, forgetting his efforts to keep quiet. But if anyone has glanced in their direction yet, they'd never know it. Ushers could be entering the auditorium now to chase them out under threat of law enforcement and the pair of them would be oblivious until lights shined in their eyes and hands wrenched them apart.

And what Jim says back to him has Sebastian sighing lustfully. Who might have thought for a moment that he'd squirm under the suggestion, but he does, so delightfully, pressing against Jim as if he hasn't had enough of the terrible bite of that knee crushing against him.

His answer falls from desperate mouth where air can scarcely keep from stuttering. "You'll be the first."

Because just like no one has ever made him beg and no one has ever wrapped their fingers around his throat, no one has ever made Sebastian Moran submissive until James Moriarty.

\---

"I'll be the one and only."

He bites back immediately, lifting one hand to rip the kerchief from his jacket pocket and reaching down to flick open the buttons of Sebastian's trousers, followed by the zip. Silk covered fingers dip within the boxers and free the painfully hard erection, curling around it and sliding the soft cloth up in quick, slippery strokes. He hasn't bothered to move his knee, and his wrist slams against it on every downward stroke.

"See, I won't bend you over, Sebastian," he hisses into the older boy's ear, flicking spittle and hot breath across the delicate curve of the lobe. "I'm going to watch every expression that flicks over that pretty face. Watch those tan cheeks turn pink, and the tears well up in those gorgeous eyes. I'm going to watch the exact moment you break beneath me. Watch you beg. Because you will beg, Sebastian. And we both know that now."

His hand doesn’t stop, too fast, not fast enough, squeezing and pushing nails into the tender flesh through the silk.

"I own you, 'Bastian. Every part. And I'll take each piece before you can even blink."

\---

Air endeavors to stay within in his lungs and it does not do well on the task, not when he aches for relief as fingers and silk slide up and down the length of his cock. Jim's Irish dashed voice spills the kind of promises that make a man cringe, hissing whispers in his ear for no one else while the boy twice his size in height and muscle writhes tense in his grasp. And shouldn't it be humiliating? Reduced down to panting, his control stripped away and his whole sense of self is claimed.

But Sebastian has given himself to this. He belongs to Jim, his heart thrills to be possessed. _Owned_. A tiny King who praises his champion is still the King who rules him.

"I am yours." The gasped compliance and not the first of his admission. There are options but there is no choice. Jim will take, he will take until nothing is left and Sebastian will beg for him to take more.

A silk barrier does not steal the sting of nails pressing against blood gorged flesh, throbbing desperate and flushed beneath the fabric that separates him from those soft and violent hands. It's becoming urgent, uncontrollable, everything pulls within him and he can scarcely contain the moan of dire need that gets caught behind the snap of his jaw clenching. Teeth bury themselves into the flesh beneath his thin lip and barely keep the sound of his unraveling quiet above the film that has other patrons engrossed.

With barely the space between them for Jim's arm and the boy's knee jammed between his legs so sharply, still the blond arches for the touch, still he tries to smash Jim against him with the strength of his arm. Fingers grip at the suit fabric as the build up overwhelms him and every muscle goes taut.

\---

There is no earthly pleasure greater than watching a big, strong creature like Sebastian completely crumble apart at the seams beneath Jim's touch. Nothing will ever compare to it, the way it feels to hold every ounce of power. Jim is near giddy with glee, high as if he inhaled some sort of mind altering narcotic. Not even his own orgasm compares to the rush of taking apart Sebastian. It's a greater feeling than anything else he's experienced, to have this man in his possession.

"Mine... Always mine, down to the marrow."

He purrs, the words rolling from his tongue in a brogue that oozes thick and heavy, dripping from his tongue like honey. Jim's not bothered to right himself, his ravished dress shirt hangs open and loose from his shoulders, making their bare chests crush together as Sebastian's grip lurches him forwards like he's trying to press Jim into his skin. The angle has become awkward, but still his hand moves, wringing out Sebastian’s sense and soul through his cock.

The movie is beginning to reach its climax, and so must Sebastian if he hopes to have any chance of putting himself back together before the lights come on and they are noticed. Jim shifts and brings his lips brushing against Sebastian's, breathless as he pants down into the older boy's mouth. "Come for me Sebastian...show me that you're mine."

\---

He's already so close, tiptoeing the line from which he'll plummet. Jim's words always seem to find a way to burrow into the bones, broken and strong, the cadence of his heart singing with desire as it spreads through his veins. His teeth relent their unkind pinch from his lip so they may part as if to catch the breath of every syllable that slips past Jim's like a gift. Sebastian is hopelessly romanced by the thought of possession, a strange thing for a boy who is nearly a man to realize he needed, but there is no instance of anyone dominating his mind the way his obsession claims Jim.

And even though there is no space left and their bodies rest awkward against one another, still his hips try to thrust instinctually into that silk covered hand, jerking in short and jagged movements for mere seconds while the muscles contract and start to contort his spine as if everything pulls to the singular centerpiece of his groin. All of his tension suddenly stills, the muscles in his arms but temporary rock that bind Jim to him and he shudders in the next moment as release comes spilling forth. Sebastian tilts his chin up and smashes his mouth into the other boy's, muffling the sound of his moan against Jim's lips and it's a good thing because the gunfire and musical flare has quieted with the conflict of the film reaching conclusion.

It takes several moments for the strain to ebb, melting into relaxation with the final pulses of his orgasm stuttering through him like tiny electric shocks. It's purely blissful, from the physical relief to the euphoric flutter.

\---

The smash of their lips together is not elegant in any way. Their teeth clash and Jim's tongue gets trapped in the onslaught, slicing open across the razor edge of those foreboding teeth. Jim stiffens at the burst of pain but keeps stroking Sebastian through his release, feeling the warmth seep into the silk and save both their suits. Jim shifts the kiss to smear blood across the blond's bottom lip, triumphant in the way Sebastian has succumbed to him.

He lets Sebastian have his last few moments until he softens with sensitivity and then Jim swipes the handkerchief over Sebastian's cock, cleaning him before tossing the fabric down to the floor to be forgotten until some unlucky usher finds it. Sebastian is out of commission, so Jim is kind enough to tuck the boy back into his trousers and then turns his head to the aisle and delicately spits out a mouthful of blood.

He glances over his shoulder as the end credits begin to roll and it’s slightly irritating that he didn't get to see if his prediction was right. He shrugs and moves his hands to button up his shirt again, smoothing it out before moving to do the same to Sebastian, who looks lovely in the glow of the silver screen, even if he is a bit useless at the moment.

\---

At last, he's let Jim go from the vice of his arms, which he finds stiff in the elbows from prolonged tension of holding them together. Two hands find their way down to sit on Jim's hips as he catches his unruly breath, head and body tilting back to watch the brunet move; the flick of wrist that sends the silk aside, the hint of dark color on his swollen lips, obscured by the shadows still drenching the auditorium. The way Jim's hands move to button up his untucked finery and that's a sobbing shame as the sight of Sebastian's marks disappear beneath the pale gray fabric.

As the buttons are being done on his own shirt, he can taste copper on his mouth and he reaches up to dab a thumb tip at the sensation, finding it spotted dark upon a glance. But it isn't his blood. His tongue slides across his bottom lip and catches the whole taste of it, sucking the flesh in softly to let it slide free and clean. Eyes half lidded and his mouth gently curved at the corner, he nips the spot clear off his thumb and glances upward at Jim again, hands finally moving to fasten the other boy's trousers into proper order. Credits won't roll forever and they've already been spotted by a couple leaving, he's nearly sure of that shadow at the corner of his eye.

 

He'll do his own as well, because ties need fixing and Jim is exponentially better at it than he is. Sebastian watches him, sated and silently adoring and before Jim can move away from him, he reaches up and touches his thumb to the other boy's mouth to swipe away a small spot of blood lingering. And something about that is a bit incredible, but that may be the flood of endorphins talking.

\---

Jim has a little quirk of a smile on his lips as Sebastian wipes off his mouth. Leaning forwards, he nips the last smear of blood from Sebastian's thumb, then slips out of his lap to shrug back into his jacket. He plucks up the ends of his dangling tie, deft fingers skimming over the silk without even looking to fasten it into a thick windsor snuggled at the bottom of his marked throat.

Pulling himself back into some semblance of together, collecting his bag from beneath the seat where it was stashed, Jim looks on as a pair of ushers with flashlights came hurrying down into the theater, pointing up towards the top row of seats. Jim smiles and looks back to Sebastian, eyes flashing in the dark reel of credits as the screen blinks and burns out.

"We're about to be kicked out, 'Bastian."

He laughs and reaches up to take over tying the taller boy's necktie, since no doubt it would take him hours to attempt the knot in the dark. He finishes and reaches down to snag Seb's hand, then takes off running down the opposite aisle, dashing down as the ushers run up. Being banned from the cinema wasn't something he was terribly afraid of, but he'd rather not have his name and face spread around town. As they burst out into the lobby, the drastic change of light burns his eyes, but still he runs, hopping over red velvet rope and hoping Sebastian has the wit to do the same or else he'd seriously impede their getaway.

\---

It brings him a sort of- yes let's call it that- _glee_ when Jim defiantly stands there, ever fearless, to knot the tie for him. The smile on Sebastian's face creeps steadily across his cheeks as the ushers get higher and higher on the steps towards them, blossoming into a full blown grin when Jim grabs his wrist and takes off opposite of their approach.

Bless his rugby player reflexes, Jim is quick but it takes Sebastian half the strides to keep up with him. They both go bounding through the brightly lit lobby, over ropes meant for order, weaving past bystanders with no sense to get out of the way. Patrons turn to watch in confusion as a pair of well dressed boys go barreling out of the glass doors and all the way, connected by their hands. Daylight is still shining away outside and they turn down Shaftesbury's walk where they can blend amongst the people milling about late afternoon. Once they slow down, Sebastian lets out a untamed laugh and he's all adrenaline and racing heart and genuine delight.


	22. Writing the Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We don't talk about the past.
> 
> The story of Moriarty and Moran, from the very beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This will be updated every Saturday.**
> 
> And as always, thank you to our biggest supporter, [Hippano](http://hippano.tumblr.com/) for all of her art and beta reading! <3

Jim is breathless, laughing and giggling along side Sebastian, and his little lungs strain to get in a proper breath. Adrenaline courses through his veins as well, but so much energy expended all at once on top of an orgasm and other things has left him bone tired. His small body isn't used to such activities, and though he'd never admit to being weak, it is a solid fact that he is exhausted from their date already.

But he has no wish for it to end either, for Jim also feels alive in a way he hasn't in ages. He's...having fun, and that concept is so foreign to him, it takes him a moment to understand its meaning. He's been comfortable with Sebastian, felt good and warmth and well fed. But fun? This is the first time in years and he's beyond thrilled. He's been happy, and teasing Sebastian is wonderful, as is playing his piano and reading the stories he writes. But nothing has felt so rushingly good as running through the streets of London.

Sebastian is laughing too, and he's gorgeous, face lit up in pure delight. Nibbling at the healing cut on his bottom lip, Jim lets out a soft sigh of the breath he's been panting, and steps in close to press his forehead in against Sebastian's silk tie, closing his eyes for a moment to savor what he's found. He looks up again, shopping bag still dangling from his fingers, his eyes bright and brown in the afternoon light.

"Carry me back to the car." And he doesn't give reasons or excuses, because he knows Sebastian will jump at the chance to do just that.

\---

Jim's laugh, his genuine laughter and the smile that it casts, always makes him look young again. Daylight steals the darkness from his eyes making them glitter like well kept secrets; a pretty brown that reminds Sebastian of rich coffee being poured. For a few moments which dare stretch on their world, this one they share, is right.

He's already smiling so wide his cheeks stretch and too many teeth flash in a glaze of white between his lips, but it softens gently as Jim presses close to him for a few moments, fingers of a free hand reaching up to lace with the soft, dark hair on the back of his neck even for a few seconds. He still gathers breath in big strides of his lungs that inflate his chest, but Jim's forehead is momentarily resting above it and maybe his heart gives an extra little thunder hoping the other boy will hear it.

No, he absolutely does not need reasons, only the permission, or rather the demand that he is given. Sebastian laughs softly, giving a nod of his barely askew blond before leaning down and leaving a chaste kiss on his forehead for no reason other than impulse.

"Yes sir." And after a split second of deliberation on the best way, he takes a step back and turns to the side before kneeling down to let Jim climb up onto his back and wrap slender arms around his neck so that Sebastian can lift him up. It seemed the better of choices for getting around easily in a crowd of people as they head back through Piccadilly to the car park.

\---

Jim's lip and nose curl a little in disgust at the motherly kiss bestowed to his forehead, but he tolerates it, pushing the shopping bag into Sebastian's hands. He steps back as Sebastian suddenly squats down, blinking at his choice. Jim is small, and no doubt scaling Sebastian's back like that will make him look like a tired sibling. In fact, any way Sebastian carries him will look like it, and a glance around at the people stopping to watch the blond crouch in the middle of the sidewalk confirm it. This isn't the dark of the theater. Here, Jim can be spotted and remembered, by other teens who already have more than enough ammo against him. He hesitates, fingers grazing the back of Sebastian's collar, until finally he sighs and climbs onto his back, regretting his decision wholeheartedly.

But he's asked and it would be odd to back down now, so his hands lock around Sebastian's neck and his legs around the older boy's waist and he remembers why he hates being carried. He feels ridiculous, and no doubt he looks it too. Burying his face against the back of Sebastian's neck, he goes quiet, a squeeze of his hands signalling Sebastian to get on with it and start moving before Jim slithers back down to the earth.

\---

Arms slip around Jim's legs and secure him before he stands to full height, strong enough to support the other boy's weight without needing to lean forward for the balance. The bag of clothing dangles from his wrist as he takes a deep breath to continue down the walk and he doesn't have a single care for anyone who glances after them along the way or whatever they may think on the subject matter.

He's oblivious to Jim's discomfort about it just now and he walks in long strides while people seem to nudge out of their way so Sebastian doesn't have to weave through them nearly as much. The finery they are draped in might account for some of that because it isn't likely to be the grin which accessorizes the older boy's face.

"Dinner, then?" He asks with a slight tilt of his head, not quite glancing fully over his shoulder because he can't really see Jim anyway. It's still a bit early yet for tea but that might be a blessing to avoid a wait.

\---

After a few strides, the tension starts to melt off of him as Sebastian's movements gently rock him. He lets himself mold to the older boy's back, his fingers curling over broad shoulders to skim over the edge of the blond's lapel. It’s a shame that there is so much clothing in the way, but if Jim leans up he can drag his cheek and lips over the small space of skin just above Seb's collar. So he does, nosing at the nape of his neck.

He pauses to check if he is hungry, and yes- for the popcorn had gone to waste, ignored, leaving hunger in a belly that is used to eating more now. It will have much to complain about when he returns home. "Dinner sounds nice..." He exhales against Sebastian's neck, eyes slipping shut as each step rocks him into a comfort he won't admit.

"I wanna eat where no one will know us." He amends, because he doesn't want to chance a run in with anyone from either school. Other than that, the choice is entirely up to Sebastian.

\---

Nuzzle and breath against the back of his neck make Sebastian grin to himself, holding steady as they approach a crosswalk where the older boy stops briefly to wait the light. A strand of pale gold falls out of place across his forehead as he chuckles softly, escaped from the phantom of Jim's earlier grip in the slight tousle of strands.

"And here I thought to go to Fortnum & Mason." And it's only sort of a joke; after all, it was an option. But Jim wants something less conspicuous and Sebastian has no arguments to the matter. Thinking on it, he wasn't particularly fond of the idea they might run into Etonians or worse, his father's colleagues. He wasn't trying to hide Jim from anyone but he neither felt like explaining or letting someone interrupt their actual, honest, and thus far delightful date. Their first.

As he began to cross the road, he hummed in thought. "Where no one will know us..." A thought out loud and although Sebastian was not as familiar with roaming around this city as Jim was, he could map a bit of it out in his mind at some undetailed level. Etonians could be anywhere but they were more likely to pop up in finer establishments with their respected families of which plenty knew his father. So the high end was off the table. And Sebastian knew what school Jim attended by way of their meeting; Cotterill's younger brother. He didn't know the area terribly well but enough to be able to avoid its point of origin and in theory, farther from the school, less likely to run into its students.

"I think I know a place." And he can't recall its name but he remembers where it is. Gauging which direction he will need to head in once they reach the car, Sebastian continues down towards Piccadilly where the crowd is a bit thicker and they will make another cross.

\---

Jim doesn't offer any sort of help, for the very reason that he'd rather see Sebastian's idea of a proper venue. Of course Jim can offer the address of many worthy establishments, but he'd rather see where the blond intends to take them.

Jim is pliable against Sebastian's back, feeling every shift of his muscles with each step. It lulls him into comfort, and he just murmurs his agreement into Sebastian's skin. It's not like it matters the sort of establishment they end up in, nearly everything this town has to offer is nicer than he can afford.

When they reach the car park, Jim finally wriggles and slips down out of Sebastian's arms to the cement floor to head for the car and will away the lingering remnants of fatigue that are wearing him down faster than he'd like.

\---

When Jim squirms to be let down, he bends a bit to make sure his feet make it to the ground before he lets go. Standing straight again, the blond rolls his shoulders as he follows after the other boy to the waiting car, digging in pockets for keys and pulling the bag off his plastered wrist. He opens Jim's side first and makes his way around to the driver's, setting the bag of attire on the back seat as he settles behind the wheel.

It won't be a long drive, not quite high traffic hours, not that London is ever particularly empty either. But they pull out of the car park and the older boy suspects it may be ten minutes or so a drive to a place that has nothing at all to do with either of them. At least as far as he can guess, considering that Jim's life was largely a secret to him in the first place.

He chooses a venue that's neither highest end nor a hole in the wall. Somewhere in the middle, a nice place with an ambience of calm and open, large windows that bleed in light and when the sun goes down, it’s bathed in warm lighting. It's a rather quaint cafe, low key, and English at its core, whatever its name is. He still doesn't pay attention to it once they arrive and find parking considerably easier than being in the center of Piccadilly.

\---

There is a little smirk on his face as Sebastian opens the door for him, but this is a proper date, so he allows the quaint gesture rather than snarking about it. It's...different, to have someone treat him so kindly, with such care. It wears down his hard exterior and leaves just Jim, no masks, no barriers.

He reaches over and takes Sebastian's hand after he starts the car, entwining their fingers over the center console as they drive. If Sebastian insists on these archaic practices, then Jim can follow suit. His fingers slowly rub along the inside of Sebastian's palm, just idle nonsense.

When they do reach their destination, Jim looks at the restaurant with interest. Though he knows of its existence, like all things in London, he's never been there. It’s a good pick, far enough from the strip so it’s not swarmed, and still close enough to claim some of its class.

He slips his hand in around Sebastian's arm as they step inside, and the hostess doesn't comment other than a friendly smile and regular chatter, taking them to a corner booth set beside a picture window that looks outside. Jim stares out the window and finally untangles his hand to slip into the seat.

"Not bad, Moran."

\---

Jim finally voices his opinion and the response makes his grin reappear in an instant. A hand now free reaches up and slides through his hair, managing to push back the loose gold at his temple before he picks up the menu left by their hostess.

"I've got a bit of homework to do if I think to impress you." He inclines and nods his head in a slight gesture of both a shrug and acceptance. "’Not bad’ is a start."

Because for all archaic practices of their very normal date, the guessing game of what Jim will approve of has been, actually, a bit fun. Maybe because he is so intent to please him; nothing compares to the smile he gets when he does.

The waitress will pop up any moment for their drink orders while they read, surely and Sebastian will try not to stare at Jim too long in between the menu items because he's getting rather hungry.

\---

Jim barely glances over the menu before Sebastian draws his attention with his comment. That Sebastian is eager to impress him, and in fact, aims for it. He tilts his head and regards the boy curiously. Impressing Jim, _really_ impressing him is a hard thing to manage. Sebastian is aiming high, because Jim is in no way typical.

But it’s charming to know that the man is trying.

Jim makes his selection easily; there are vegetarian options, so he picks a vegetable curry and a chai tea. When the waitress returns, he relays his order but her wide smiles are primarily aimed towards Sebastian, which is something he's used to by now. They aren't immediately recognized as a couple, but what else would they be? There is too much between them as opposites for them to be related, or even mates. But people don't immediately make the connection. Not this day and age.

Once the orders are taken, he returns his attention to Sebastian, and calls him out.

"You stare. Constantly. Are you convinced I might disappear if you haven't got an eye on me at all times?"

\---

There's a fair choice between what he could have, centered around his staple need for meat, but he doesn't trust a steak in most places and that's posh upbringing for you. He chooses the lamb, plenty of vegetable to side and of course, potatoes included. It's tea to drink, with a glass of water to swallow down first.

And he's doing it again even as the accusation leaves Jim's mouth- staring, of course. The question immediately makes him smile and there's a small breath of laughter there, but something else, too. You can't really call it nervous, but a flutter of something unset makes him take his eyes off Jim for just a moment.

"You might." It sounds almost casual, joking maybe, but soft.

For a split second, Sebastian is reminded of just how easy it is that you can know someone is there, expect it to be that way forever and in the next, they are gone. But he immediately tries to stuff that thought down his throat and you can almost see the effort manifest in his physical body as he shifts across the table and his fingers flex as if they were closing around something. He tells himself it's not sentiment, reminds himself that Jim has disappeared before and lost him on more than one occasion. He could have done it that very afternoon but he stopped. This time, he kept up.

It's not completely irrational.

He answers with a different truth. "I like watching you."

If his smile had faltered any, it doesn't now, even if it’s light. "Most people are easy to read. I'm used to watching them. I may not know exactly what they are thinking but I can guess how they feel. You don't give that away unless you want to."

He shrugs, a nudge of shoulder and incline of head together. "And anyway, I find you rather..." He lingers on a word he's pretty certain Jim would hate and he tries not to grin while filling in the blank. "Appealing."

Well, it starts with the same letter, anyway.

\---

Oh Sebastian. He hides nothing, even that which he doesn't put forth on display. Jim can see him tense, even as he plays off as a joke. Jim closes his eyes for a moment, then stretches his hand over the table to dip his fingers across Sebastian's palm.

"I can tell you had another word ruminating in that dense skull of yours, but we'll stick to that one. I find you very _appealing_ as well, Sebastian."

His nose wrinkles slightly, he's not one for waxing egos or stating the obvious. But he can't help but admit that yes, he is not immune to Sebastian's charms, no matter how much he'd like to claim otherwise.

"I won't be running today." He murmurs softly. It doesn't matter that he nearly did run. What matters is that he stopped. He stopped for Sebastian and that's more that he's given anyone else.

\---

Jim's hand stretches to his on the table and Sebastian wonders momentarily if the other boy has caught something he didn't intend to let go of. But it doesn't disrupt him because this is Jim, and whatever he may be thinking, whatever his reason, it goes silent behind those dark eyes.

Sebastian's grin frolics across his face because Jim has certainly caught his very obvious pause for word choice. The fact that Jim returns the sentiment only tightens his cheeks against the wide mouth that bares too many teeth, a small air of laughter as Jim's nose wrinkles and it only furthers the word he was originally brewing. But he keeps it to himself, for now, because Jim mutters a kind of promise that means something more than silly word dances.

Sebastian's lips make an effort not to brand him a fool, he reduces to a smile but it's genuine. His fingers curl gently towards Jim's and he isn't bashful about taking his hand. It's far from the most obvious thing he might have done today.

"I'll try to make it worth staying."

\---

"I'll hold you to it."

Jim quips in reply with an air of haughtiness that certainly fits the posh attire he's donned for the day. But a smile still curves the corners of his lips, and it’s not said with malice.

The waitress returns with their drinks and Jim squeezes Sebastian's hand before drawing away to curl his hand around the spiced milk tea, lifting it to drain a long swallow with a pleased hum. The cream froths around his lips in a bit of a moustache, but he licks it away quickly, turning his attention out the window to watch the world pass by as the mug warms his hands.

"What do you want to do with your life, Sebastian? What's your plan after Eton?"

\---

There's another silent breath of amusement where he smiles a little wider before their hands become unattached. Sebastian takes the water first and as intended, swallows half the glass in a few heavy gulps but not before he pauses just for a second to watch Jim coddle his cup of tea. And he's really quite... well, you know the word.

He sets the glass back down and nudges it to the side, bringing his own tea closer to prep; a drop of two sugars and a slow stir to dissolve but as he dips the spoon into the steaming cup, Jim asks him a question. And it's terribly normal a conversation topic, especially for a first date- if you believe the movies anyway- but they've never really discussed it beyond Sebastian's once upon a time mentioning that he wanted to leave London. Except that was no longer entirely true.

"I know what the _plan_ is." He speaks in a way that strongly suggests that the plan and what he wants are not the same thing.

"I'm waiting for a letter from Oxford." He stirs slowly, nary a tink of metal to the china, blue eyes down at the slow churn of liquid. "And there is almost zero chance it will be a no."

\---

Jim hums idly, half distracted, and lets his gaze linger out the window for a few more moments before finally bringing his attention back to Sebastian. He licks the taste of vanilla from his lip and regards the boy across from him with a shake of his head, as if Sebastian has given him a wrong answer.

"That's not what I asked. I don't want to know the plan everyone else has laid out for you. I want to know what you plan to do."

Jim tilts his head to the side and loosens his grip on the mug, placing it on the table once more.

"What you _want_ to do."

\---

When he speaks again, Sebastian stops stirring finally, glancing up at the other boy and falling into his habit of a lingering gaze. He taps the spoon gently on the rim before setting it atop the saucer and fingers curl around the handle but it is not lifted.

The porcelain is warm against his skin as Sebastian's face arranges itself around his emotions, looking almost perplexed, as if no one had ever asked him that question before. He considers it for a long moment, eyes sliding down to the table again, to the tea which has fallen still but pipes soft streams upward until they dissipate. Blond brows knit together and he shakes his head, a muted shrug in his broad shoulders as he lifts his gaze back to the other boy.

"I don't know. No one ever asks me what I want. Things are just expected and I am meant to be grateful. I only ever consider what I can do within that."

He can feel a kind of frustration boiling up in his chest and he doesn't know how he wears it on his face like he does nearly every emotion that crosses him. He isn't sure what he hates more; being this pawn of his father's decisions and expectations or being one of those boys who wants nothing more than to rebel against them.

"I wanted to leave London- anywhere that Augustus wasn't. But I won't have much say in that either. Wherever the Queen's army thinks I need to be, that's the _plan_."

He starts to say something more and the words get pulled back into his mouth, closing parted lips with a nasal exhale. His jaw is tight and Sebastian finds his stare somewhere else because he can't look at Jim with that frustration.

"No matter what, everything seems to be about Augustus. Do as he says or don't." And what he hates the most is the idea that this is his identity. Nothing more than a bad cliché he's seen on movie screens and read on countless pages.

\---

And Jim has momentarily shocked and confused Sebastian with his simple statement. He watches the way it paints over the older boy's face, contorts it with worry and self-loathing. Sebastian, as much as he wishes to fight against it, is a follower, and has been following people all his life. It just hasn't quite occurred to him yet, that he can choose who he follows.

As he continues on, as the plan is described, it is obvious there is no room in it for Jim. Jim is not meant for the army, not meant for Oxford, not meant for the world beyond London, where something has cemented him so completely. Jim has trapped himself, but Sebastian wishes to roam free, and it’s an eventuality of life.

"You are not Augustus."

He says softly. And the decision circles him yet again.

\---

Sebastian's gaze suddenly snaps back to Jim across the table and it wipes clean the expression of frustration, giving way to soft startle.

In a lifetime of people telling him how much alike he was to his father, a long history of doing as commanded, which was following in the man's footsteps, and what felt like an eternity in the shadow of a name and a title, he never once realized how badly he might have needed those words.

Sebastian exhales as if the breath skips away from him. "You are the only person who has ever said that to me."

He isn't quite smiling, but brows knit again, except this time he seems to realize something more. It shouldn't be so profound, but it is, to him.

"In fact, I think you are the only decision I've ever made that had nothing to do with him." No, it was more than that. So much more than that and Sebastian had to stop himself from opening his mouth and speaking too fast because he'd sound utterly ridiculous and he knew it, but a thought crossed his mind. An idea. Maybe a stupid, foolish little hope because he was, at the core, just a fool. Wasn't he?

"You know what I want, Jim?" Sebastian almost laughs the words, maybe at himself. He nods his blond head, firm, certain, because he's only just realized a possibility and he is ever the optimist.

"That." But he realizes the statement is vague. He reiterates. "You."

\---

Jim was unaware of how much a simple statement could affect Sebastian. Especially when it was true. Jim may not know Sebastian to the extent of his staff and school mates, but the parts of Sebastian that Jim did know were easy enough of a tell that he was nothing like the man he seems to despise above all.

The shock Jim introduced into Sebastian's system seemed to echo out as the boy returned a bit to himself, realization turning his features an odd mixture of jovial and self deprecating. A nod of his head, and then he finally admits to what he wants. What Sebastian wants.

And it's Jim.

Jim blinks, and it's he who is stunned for a moment. He averts his gaze, finding it a neutral place to stare as he gathers his thoughts, but not before the faintest hint of colour hits his cheeks. Sebastian is woefully blunt at times.

Jim hasn't considered a future with Sebastian. He barely plans beyond the end of this week, the disruption brought into his life by the blond has scattered his plans to the wayside, taken him off track and left him floundering in a way he hasn't for years. Everything was always meticulously planned before Sebastian came along.

Jim presses his lips together and turns back to flick his gaze up at Sebastian. "Oxford does boast having the largest library in the world...and I suppose a degree in Biochemistry wouldn't hurt, even if their space program is near non existent."

Jim chews at the inside of his cheek, gaze dropping to the table before it flicks back up to those blue eyes.

"I could go to Oxford with you."

\---

Sebastian is rather straightforward, that's true, and there are times he forgets to be tactical about it. He can reign himself back from nearly gushing like an excited child but he doesn't clip his intentions or his meanings in the process. Impulsive is what people say. And this time, he's the one saying things that take Jim a moment to process. He can see it on his face but more than that, it's the telling pause and stillness of Jim thinking. That flush of pink color on pale skin makes Sebastian want to smile but he fights the twitch of his lips, waiting.

And it's worth it. That grin splits his face yet again, wider the more Jim speaks. He finds himself impressed another time, another interest, just a crumb of knowledge he pecks at like a hungry bird in the park.

Jim says, _I could go with you._

Not, _I could go there as well_ , or maybe as a possibility unfocused, or even that it's on a list of schools being considered but, I could go **_with you._**

And that means Jim would _want_ to, doesn't it? That they could be together, he'd want that.

Sebastian is a hopeful sod, isn't he? And he may as well be the starry eyed girl who finds out you go to Eton because as far as he's concerned, Jim is utterly- and yes that range of understanding is limited but pay attention- as far as Sebastian Moran is concerned, James Moriarty is infinitely brilliant.

"Biochemistry?" You can hear it in his voice, how highly he thinks of Jim. "You really are completely brilliant, aren't you?"

He leans forward a bit, pressing weight on his well wrapped elbows and he's rather excited by the idea, even as a mention of possibility, because if he has a choice in anything, he'd choose a plan that involved Jim. "We could raid their library. I'm sure they have plenty of books on space, if you can manage not to read them all in a week."

\---

Jim watches Sebastian lean forwards with all the excitement of a child on Christmas morning, and he can't help but laugh, though it's soft and muted as they are inside. Though Jim might not care about what others think about him, he isn't going to draw attention to himself either. They've already been very adventurous today, haven't they?

Sebastian's praise doesn't go unnoticed, and certainly not brushed to the side. From Sebastian, it means something. Countless people have called him smart, but they are usually teachers who see him as another number they'd want in their class to improve their scores. Sebastian doesn't know his scores, doesn't know his GPA or the credits he's accumulated. All he knows is Jim, and he thinks Jim is brilliant.

He smiles and reaches over to take Sebastian's hands at the mention of raiding the library to clean out the books on space. And honestly, it's more than anyone else in the world knows about Jim. It may seem small, just one thing, but it's Jim's endless passion and for Sebastian to recognize it makes the younger boy giddy with happiness.

"It's one of the schools that has offered a scholarship...I have enough credit to finish out the school year and go to uni early." And maybe it's too much. Maybe it's too far. But Sebastian's hope is contagious. "Perhaps...we could share a dorm. I don't have the pull you do to get a private one."

\---

He knew it. He knew and he wasn't wrong. Jim is incredible. Sebastian might be smart but he has to work rather hard at it. Certain things come easy for him surely and everything else is application of his accumulated knowledge, he does enough to maintain his marks in all his divs and little more than that. Fulfilling a kind of obligation and expectation. But Jim is genuinely smart, the kind of intelligent that schools fight over and he probably burns through the mundane subjects of general education like fire on oil- at least, that's exactly the kind of image Sebastian gets in his head about him. He's still convinced Jim is younger than he is and Sebastian is on the cusp of finishing Eton this year, which means Jim is already leagues ahead of him.

He stares at the Irish brunet, practically beaming with pride over this knowledge, their hands clasped together on the table like no one else is around to see them. He squeezes Jim's cool fingers, warming them in his grasp. That's _his_ incredible boyfriend.

"Dorm? Uhg-"

Sebastian tosses his head a little in a grimace of that sharkish, grinning mouth and that strand of blond goes popping out of place again as he returns his gaze to Jim, still filled with enthusiasm. "Too much like Eton, so many restrictions, all those people. We'll get a flat. I'd rather not share you anyway."

And it's as daring a suggestion as any, isn't it?

\---

Sebastian's hands squeeze at his, but Jim's brow furrows as the blond expresses his distaste for dorm rooms and dictates that no, they'll be staying in a flat. Jim frowns a bit; his scholarships will only provide on campus housing. He will not be given extra funds for food and housing should he seek it elsewhere. His schooling will be provided for, but that's the extent of it. He has no way to afford an off campus flat.

Before he can relay this, the waitress returns, this time with their plates, and he pulls his hands away to leave the table free for her to set the platters down. Sebastian's lamb looks delicious, but it doesn't beat the smells raising from his bowl of curry and rice, with freshly baked naan on the side.

He nods his thanks to the waitress and unravels his silverware, lost in thought. Sebastian claims to not want to share him, which would imply he owns Jim. And yes, it may be hypocritical, for Jim has claimed that he owns Sebastian but in no way does he wish to be owned in return. He has no way to pay for a flat and already it’s obvious how he'd need to make due.

\---

Enthusiasm or no, he can't miss that frown. It changes the whole tone of Jim's reaction and suddenly, he withdraws into his thoughts. But Sebastian hasn't the room to say anything because they're broken apart by the return of their waitress who offers their dinner.

Yes, the lamb looks good, everything is piping hot and smells exquisite but Sebastian's attention is back on Jim the moment he's reassured the woman that they require nothing else. He hasn't even touched his tea, it's cooled to a reasonable temperature by now but that's not important.

He waits. For anything- did he go too far? Was it too forward, too bold, too much? Is he too demanding? He's spent the last five years living in little dorm rooms in large houses filled with other boys and it's exhausting, frustrating. There's little privacy even when you've got your own space between four walls and it’s suffocating, but maybe he can tolerate it a few more years if Jim is there. He can, _he can-_

_\---_

His mind had gotten away from him and he forces that sort of thinking to stop. He can't think of this arrangement like that. He's been staring at his bowl of curry a bit too long. Of course...if he doesn't have to pay for his current flat for two more years, he can contribute that money to help pay for a small flat with Sebastian instead. And he can get a job, something part time and simple.

"A...small flat. I can pay for my half."

He lifts up his spoon and dips it down into the curry, letting the rich stew coat the back of the utensil. "I think it's obvious I can't afford much." And he hates saying it, admitting it, but it's true.

\---

Jim finally speaks up and relieves him of the sudden inward conflict; we won't call it panic. He holds back a sigh that Jim doesn't immediately reject the idea, but he can hear a kind of hesitance. And it's the first time Jim has ever spoken on matters related to his life at home, just a scrap, an admittance that yes, Sebastian has figured out. And he almost, almost wants to ask but he absolutely doesn't because he remembers the reaction just from a name.

Sebastian's smile comes back. "I think it's obvious I can afford too much." But he won't try to convince Jim of letting him take care of it, even if Sebastian would have gotten his own flat living alone. No matter where or what, it would be better with Jim.

"A small flat." He agrees. "Or we can stay in the dorms if you prefer, it doesn't matter as long as you're there." He sits back in his chair and starts to unfold the napkin bundle. "We've got time."

\---

Jim rolls his shoulders in a shrug, though he can't help the curve of a lip as Sebastian claims that their living situation doesn't matter if Jim is there. He's stayed with Jim for maybe three or four days total, and is already convinced that living together is a reasonable step forwards. Jim swirls his spoon through the curry, marrying it with the snowy clumps of rice piled in the middle of the bowl.

"I'd prefer the flat. I don't really want to live in such close quarters to everyone else either. I'm used to...the quiet." To being alone. Living with another person will be an adjustment, but so far, it hasn't been so awful staying with Sebastian. He seems eager to please Jim, to keep him comfortable. So perhaps it will be the same if they share quarters. Jim really doesn't take up much space, even if the flat he is in now would not be big enough for the both of them.

"We do have the time though. We can figure out more of what we'll do later. Don't let your lamb go the way of your tea." He smiles and lifts a spoonful of curry to his mouth, putting their conversation on hold for the time being.

\---

He's relieved. There's area for compromise and they seem willing to find one. That's more than Sebastian can say for most of the people in his immediate life.

There are a lot of things he wishes he knew. A lot of questions with wonder of whether they will ever have answers. And doesn't he know how ridiculous it really is? How trusting he must be, to be so willing to throw stock in such a forward idea of planning a future, possibly years of his life, around someone he's known only closely for about a month. And close is such a relative word to what they are. It's both distant and more intimate than anything else. He doesn't actually realize that at all.

His smiles sticks persistent and he nods, gathering a fork in his hand. "I'm telling you-" he adds with a gesture of his utensil for emphasis. "Dorms are dreadful for privacy." And a small laugh as he begins tending his food, tasting each part before he cuts into the lamb. He does stop to sip at his tea and it's not ice but it's barely considered warm. He grimaces a little, but drinks it anyway because it's gone in a few good swallows and he's got half a glass of water to make up for it. Throughout eating, his energy rides high on the enthusiasm that hasn't been curbed.

\---

Jim has a smile on his face throughout the meal, very content with his curry, which the veg is still crisp and the spices are flavourful, but not overwhelming. The chai tea is a perfect accompany to the mixture of spice, and Jim falls into a content state that he often doesn't adapt. He doesn't care much for food, so much of it is scavenged and picked at, even at Sebastian's home. But this was something he got to choose, that suits him, and it makes him happy to eat it.

"I prefer privacy as well. I've never had to...share with someone, let alone a hall full of other boys. I can't imagine I'd care to experience it. You'll be enough to have to handle."

Jim pushes the last few bites of his bowl over at Sebastian to try, and he's eaten more than usual, and is stuffed full. He is leaning back against the booth seat, and pushes his feet across under the table to wriggle and rub against Sebastian's.

"What do you want to major in? Something in literature, writing? You're very good at it."

\---

Sebastian chuckles quietly around a mouthful he chews, and the lamb with its trimmings has been delicious and warm, near perfect but maybe he's influenced by the emotional high he stays on.

He's nearly done but stops to take a gulp of water that's been refreshed through their meal by the waitress, and then to taste a bite of Jim's curry and actually, it's really very good, which probably shows on his face. He makes no comment however because he's been asked a question he addresses, beginning with a nod.

"English Lit seems a waste on its own, it's too passive. I think my focus will be in writing. You can do that anywhere in the world."

Won't Augustus hate that. Business, world politics, history, justice; these are things Augustus cares for. But Jim likes his writing and that means more to him than the disapproval he'll surely get. The other boy has gotten more of a glimpse at it than most people, reading through his journals. Sebastian has been keeping tabs on where the dent lies on the shelves and he knows his leathers are in order. That's how he knows Jim is a quick reader, because those pages are filled front and back from cover to cover.

"I've entertained the idea of writing books someday." But you don't need University to do that and it's an afterthought more than a life plan.

\---

Jim's eyelids barely flutter as he mentally catalogs the course work at Oxford, because of course he's researched every school that sent him a request to attend. There's no rush for them to leave, so why not sit and digest a bit while they continue this conversation, which is a rarity between them, but Jim likes planning, likes etching out this possibility that has bloomed between them.

"You can aim for a Bachelor's or Master's in the Fine arts. That covers creative writing, which in turn, covers you quite well. You've already got so many stories you can expand on. There's a good tone to your writing, and it's not pretentious, but still enthralling."

And he's not really slathering up Sebastian with blind compliments, he's giving his honest opinion. Despite burning some of Sebastian's work, he is fond of it, or he wouldn't be working his way through the array of volumes. Jim is blunt, he doesn't just litter praise when it isn't deserved.

Jim's lips curve into a smile that is slightly sly, and his unnoticed feet drop back to his side of the booth so he can once again sit up straight.

"And they've got shooting clubs. Rifles and pistols. You don't have to play rugby if you don't want to." Because Sebastian is on a whole other plane of existence compared to the other players of his team. Sebastian is meant for something more.

\---

Sebastian is entirely under the belief that Jim does not make arbitrary comments. The other boy is just as blunt as he can be, if not more so and when compliments come, they're always believed as honest. It makes Sebastian smile even if the point is not to stroke his mighty ego.

Jim shifts and Sebastian glances down at the table as if he notices the sudden difference after being distracted but there's no time to ponder it because Jim has his near immediate attention with further details. Everything he's said is perfectly reasonable, if not impressive that he has all of this knowledge bundled up in his head because the truth is, Sebastian has barely looked at the University or the course information beyond his necessities for applying. Oxford was not a _choice_ and he just didn't care enough until the letter comes in. Maybe a part of him even hoped, just a little, that he _would_ be rejected. But all that is shoved to the wayside immediately by Jim's suggestion and the young Irishman must know it because he's got a look on his face that is oh so telling if not subtle.

He might as well have whispered something seductive in the blond's ear.

Sebastian grins. "I don't." He confirms his opinion on playing rugby and maybe Jim has figured it out; rugby is not some great passion of his. It's not a dream, it's not even something he watches on telly. It's just physical activity that keeps some of his time occupied and his body in shape. He gets his boundless, pent up energy out and it so happens, he's good at it. Particularly the part where he runs through people.

Now... rifles on the other hand. Firearms. Bullets and metal, the recoil against his shoulder, the thrill in his veins as he pulls the trigger; this is a passion that blooms fresh for him. Immediately he thinks of holding the hunting rifle in his hands and immediately after he thinks of Jim on his mouth, showering praise.

"Brilliant." He utters, as if he's forgotten the rest of their discussion.

\---

Jim laughs softly with the reaction he gets because Sebastian, to him, is so easy to please. He wonders vaguely if that is something anyone else manages, or if no one has ever made the effort in his life to notice all the things that can put the shark's grin on Sebastian's lips, and that dreamy look in his eye.

There's a sort of possessive desire that Jim is the only person to make Sebastian happy like that. He wants to be the reason Sebastian utters 'brilliant' under his breath that way, like he's discovered something precious.

Jim leans forwards and navigates the nearly empty plates to find Sebastian's hands again, curling his own small fingers across rougher digits.

"We'll go to Oxford together, and you'll study creative writing and I'll take biochemistry and you'll join the shooting clubs and I'll raid the library and we'll share a flat that's warm and cozy and a place just for us, and nothing else will matter. That's more than just me, Sebastian, is that what you want?"

He bites his lip a bit and squeezes the hands he has taken up in his own, because it's bold, and maybe this is just whimsy, but he wants it, _oh_ does he want it. Jim has never belonged in this city that he's bound himself to, not until Sebastian came and hunted him down and wouldn't let go even when Jim kicked and bit and lashed out.

And Jim hasn't really been living before, he's been surviving, a hollow shell just playing at being a person and now someone wants him and he thinks there might be something there after all, under all the layers. Something so terribly fragile.

And Jim never says anything that he doesn't intend to do.

\---

Cool, slender fingers seek his larger hands and Sebastian immediately responds, finding their touch and bringing his own digits inward to clasp Jim's. He's leaned forward again, plaster hidden mostly under the sleeves of his suit and sitting heavy on the table but the rest of him is light and airy and floating in a kind of dangerously pleasant space above his normal temperament. It's a bit like being buzzed on a glass of old, expensive brandy stolen from Augustus's collection and shared with his mates on a boring, reckless holiday past, except actually, he hates brandy so it's even better than that.

And Jim speaks to him as if he's reading back the details of their conversation, bullet points in Irish lilt about a possibility that seems almost fantasy but it isn't. It's entirely possible. It is. There's no reason between them that it can't be or maybe he's just daft, maybe the prospect of having something that is his- his choice, his space, his life- maybe that has him caught up in a grand idea and he's forgetting something devastating. But he doesn't care, because yes, yes-

"Absolutely." It falls out of his mouth like a prayer and he doesn't know it. He's locked gazes with Jim the way Jim watches the stars and maybe that dreamy expression is closer alike than it seems because they both see something much greater than themselves.

"That's what I want. _Our_ plan."

\---

And there's that smile again. That smile the accompanies fingers on piano keys, or the glitter of stars overhead. Of new suits and drives through the countryside to classical music. It's happiness, and Sebastian is the cause of it. He offers it to Jim on his silver platter and the boy wants to gobble up the first bit of kindness he's been given in so long because he is _desperate_ for it. He wants to believe in this future, because that's what it is. The possibility of a future when before there was nothing.

"Then we'll have it."

He rocks back away from Sebastian's grip and slides out of the booth seat, but it isn't long before he's climbing into the older's boy's side, posh suits and proper manners forgotten as he throws himself at Sebastian and catches his smooth face to seal their promise with a kiss.

"We'll have it." The words are pressed to Sebastian's mouth on the air of a giggle, and even if his lips are covered in the taste of chai and curry, he doesn't want to pull away, because happiness like this is addictive and he'll chase it as long as Sebastian keeps offering it to him.

\---

Sebastian adores that smile. It's a precious thing, more important to him than Crown Jewels and Queen's honor and all the notes threaded into their expensive suits or leather shoes. He adores Jim, and that look of happiness is every bit a treasure as the gold locked away in England's vaults; and just as guarded.

He tracks the other boy's movement around the table after their hands have come undone and they won't be at a loss for long because Jim all but collides into him. Sebastian's arms curl around his little body like they're falling into place, while fingers grace his skin, catching their mouths together in a marriage firm and passionate. Jim mumbles a vow against his lips and they taste of a strange mix but it doesn't matter because a decision has been made and it is theirs.

"Yes. Yes."

He presses another kiss against Jim's lips around the smile that stretches his face and they've found another moment where nothing else exists except this and their intended, very possible promise of a future. Sebastian knows, in the depths of his body and his misshapen heart, that he will ruin anything, anything at all, that tries to stand in the way of that because he is afraid of nothing but the idea that this can't be made true.

"It will be ours."

Lamb and curries and teas and public restaurants where people might be staring in shock; forget all of that. He just wants to press Jim a bit closer and know that he's very real and he isn't running away, not today. Maybe never again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fortnum & Mason is an "extravagant" grocery, especially known for sweets, with several connected restaurants. They'd be incredibly likely to run into someone who knew Sebastian or his father.


	23. Fast as You Can

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I may be soft in your palm but I'll soon grow hungry for a fight.
> 
> The story or Moriarty and Moran, from the very beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This will be updated every Saturday!**
> 
> And as always, thank you to our darling [Hippano](http://hippano.tumblr.com/)! <3

Jim eventually pulls down from the kiss, but he stays pressed to Sebastian's side, tucked into his embrace. His head lays against the older boy's shoulder instead and he doesn't care if people are staring.

Jim stays that way for a long time, not saying much of anything, even when the waitress stops by to drop off the bill. Jim isn't much of a touchy person but at the moment, he's content to stay tucked against Sebastian till the picture window starts to darken as the afternoon sun fades to dusk. Finally, Jim pushes up and tilts his head to look at Sebastian.

"Shall we head back? It’s a bit of a drive ahead of us...isn't it?"

\---

Jim is settled against him and Sebastian's arm stays curled around his waist, turned slightly in the seat towards the boy now beside him. His face angles down towards the top of half-tamed black hair and he'll stay just like that for as long as Jim wishes. Which seems for quite some while, watching the world trot by beyond the window as if it couldn't touch them behind the glass. For once in his life, he doesn’t feel like the one trapped under it. A moment in time, in a silly restaurant decorated by shelves of boxes and jars, on a very normal date- their first- they are all but immortal.

They go undisturbed. No one seems put off enough by their blatant display to make a fuss until Jim finally shifts against him. Sebastian is still smiling, it sits there in the corner of his mouth like a stitch too tightly pulled along the seam and he nods agreement that the drive back will be costly on time.

Sebastian unfurls his arm unhurriedly and digs in a pocket for his wallet, palming the notes for the meal and a hefty tip before waiting on Jim to slide out from the booth so he can follow. There's a moment to straighten out their suits, Sebastian finally buttoning his jacket back up, at least the topmost of two, before he'll walk with Jim linked by stride and maybe arms or hands back to the car.

The sky above London is darkening but the lights have begun to flicker on and leave a haze of shine in the air. They walk haloed side by side as it's meant to be.

\---

Jim does circle a hand around Sebastian's arm as they stroll back to where the car has been parked, because it feels like the proper thing to do on a date, doesn't it? And even though Jim is quick to tire, he finds that the day has had just the right amount of relaxation sparsed in between its more...active endeavors to not drag him down into exhaustion. When they do finally reach the car, Jim turns against the passenger door and leans up on his toes to press a lazy kiss against Sebastian's jaw. It's been a good date, hasn't it? Jim has nothing but hearsay to compare it to. And does it matter? Because he's happy, and Sebastian is happy, and that's what matters. The perception of the rest of the world doesn't.

With a soft hum, he pulls back and stares up at the blond that he's thrown his lot in with. It’s uncertain what will come from their decision and that is thrilling to Jim. _Sebastian_ thrills Jim.

"This was nice. You're a decent boyfriend."

He smirks and slides back down, slipping into the passenger seat to settle in for the ride back to the manor.

\---

Sebastian hums softly under the kiss that touches his jaw, leaning just slightly so he's in better reach on leather clad toes. His fingers find a hip to rest on for the few seconds the two of them linger here, his soft smile pulled wider as Jim teases.

" _Decent_?" The taller teenager feigns offense at the word, stepping back to watch Jim open the heavy door and climb into the seat with his satisfied smirk. A good hand catches the frame before it shuts and he leans in to look down at Jim settling in the passengers seat, grinning as he shakes his head.

"You're a hard man to please, Jim." He chuckles softly as he closes the door, moving around to the driver's wheel and as he slides down into the seat, keys in hand to slip into the ignition, he pauses to glance over at the other boy in the seat beside him. "Decent's a start."

Too many teeth flash, the engine purrs and Sebastian is ever the optimist. The sound of piano and strings fill the car as power reaches the radio and they'll take their leave from London starting with Debussy's cello sonata.

\---

Jim just laughs at Sebastian's displeasure in the word he's chosen, turning to watch the blond walk around the car and slip into the driver side. When Sebastian slips inside, Jim pushes the reclining arms of the car seats out of the way so he can lean over and rest his head on the older boy's shoulder.

"Mmm...well the night's not over yet. You've still got some time left to please me."

It's odd, how affectionate he feels at the moment. He certainly isn't used to it, this whole thing is new to him- feeling for someone, relying on someone else to make you feel happy. And letting something like that slip into the hands of someone else is scary, but wonderful.

With the windows rolled down, the breeze wafting through the car sends his hair ruffling. It isn't cold enough to be uncomfortable, not in his heavy wool suit and his cheek pressed against Sebastian's shoulder as he leans over the center console. He’s comfortable and that is a rarity on its own. Something about the older boy's calm demeanor settles Jim. Which admittedly, the Irishman certainly needed. Maybe living together will prove beneficial in that way as well.

It’s a bit of a leap, isn't it? Already planning to live together. Jim is risking a lot, but oddly, isn't worried in the least over it. It feels...right.

\---

There isn't much he can do with eyes on the road and hands on the wheel, but a smile persists. Traffic isn't high but it's not exactly dead either, getting out of London will tack on the time it takes to get back to the estate but it bothers the older boy none. The music plays and Jim is in high spirits and Sebastian himself may as well be soaring.

"I won't be getting hints about that, will I?" He muses after making a thoughtful noise, stealing a glance at Jim as they linger on a light.

Sebastian has no idea if he's any good with this. If he knows how to be better than decent at being with someone or if he's in anyway imaginative, not just accommodating, when it comes to matters unrelated to telling morbid stories. And it's certainly easy for him to think straight into the gutter about ways to _please_ Jim, so of course it crosses his mind, but even hot blooded Moran has to admit that not everything needs to involve sex.

\---

"I think you're clever enough to figure it out yourself, aren't you?" Jim mutters with a hint of amusement to his tone. Jim has no doubt that he knows where Sebastian's thoughts will turn first. He knows which way to please Sebastian, knows several ways in fact. They have to do with hands and mouths and naked bodies.

It’s not that Jim isn't interested in the carnal pursuits. Just the opposite in fact, he’s...eager to learn, to experience what he didn't know. And...well, pleasing Sebastian, who makes him happy, isn't exactly a hardship. He could admit to himself that he likes curling close to the blond afterwards when they are left exhausted and sweaty.

Sex isn't the center of Jim's life, but...Sebastian is. And he isn't so daft not to see how much of a focus it is for the older teenager. It didn't matter that they'd had a rather illegal romp mere hours before in the cinemas. He'd be raring to go the moment Jim flicked an eyelash at him.

"I know what you've got in mind, Moran. You've described it enough times."

He arches up to murmur in the blond's ear, breathing his next words on a whisper. "We could try a few tonight, if you care to see about really pleasing me."

\---

His face ought to hurt for as much as he finds it stretched in smiles and grins today, but miraculously, it doesn't. His mouth sits comfortably broad and white toothed above his chiseled jaw, absolutely relentless.

He can't actually tell if Jim means his first comment under innocent or completely suggestive pretense. Not that it matters; it's too late, his mind has gone for the suggestion and Jim must have read him like an open book because he calls him out in it almost as soon as the thoughts begin to form. It makes the blond suddenly laugh and it's strangely thrilling to believe Jim is so clever that he can predict thought. He's more than an earthbound star, he is human evolution.

And terribly wicked when he decides to be. His voice is in one ear, a breath over the singing strings of cello on the radio and Jim wouldn't be wrong about just how fast Sebastian's switch can be flipped. But he's driving and it remains the priority if he wishes them to get out of London and back to the manor in one piece to carry out that suggestion.

"I can't tell who is becoming insatiable. You, or me." He wants to cast a glance at Jim but now is not the time.

\---

Jim has had a taste of the power he has over Sebastian, and it nearly makes him salivate with the desire to bring it bubbling back up, to the point he can feel it like blood on his tongue. Sebastian isn't the only shark here.

Jim shifts up and unbuttons his coat, shrugging out of it so he can easily maneuver. Next, he's climbing into Sebastian's lap, facing the older boy as his knees dip into the seat, straddling muscular thighs. He tilts his head to the side so Sebastian can still see the road, his arms coming up to circle around Sebastian's neck. As he pulls himself close, the whispers continue, just a barely there Irish lilt that breathes over an ear.

"It's definitely both of us that are hungry, Sebastian."

He chuckles softly as he plasters himself to the blond's front, near liquid in the way he molds himself to the older boy’s body. His fingers twirl at the hair on the nape of the other boy's neck, and he licks his lips before placing them under Sebastian’s jaw..

"You can drive a little faster...can't you?"

\---

When Jim begins shifting about beside him, Sebastian can't afford much of a glance to his side to figure out what he's up to until the other boy is already climbing into his lap. He lifts one hand off the wheel to make way and dips his head slightly to make sure he keeps straight on the road, sounds of half laughter and half surprise leaving his chest. Suddenly, he's got Jim pressed up against him and this is unusual only in their current situation but he can't- _won't_ be making complaints.

He isn't wrong, they're both guilty. Jim seems fond of getting Sebastian riled up and it's terribly easy for him to do because the older boy is a fiend. A damn right addict and his drug of choice is a little Irish devil with dangerous habits. And bloody hell does he thrill every part of Sebastian, inside and out.

"You're going to get us killed." But it's teasing, softly laughing, because absolutely no way does he want the other boy to move now.

He sighs at lips on his neck and licks his own, just barely tilting his jaw towards Jim while blue eyes struggle to maintain sight forward. But Jim whispers suggestion and they aren't on the main road anymore, so even under the concert of music which may now be Bach if he could spare the attention, the engine purrs louder as the gas is gently encouraged.

"You're worse than cigarettes, Jim." And the accusation continues teasingly, his voice low and breathy yet drenched in affection. "I haven't had one all day, I've just had you instead."

And it's true, he hasn't. Hardly spared it a thought, he's been so distracted by a different kind of want. "You already make me crazy. I dread to think how mad I'll go when I can't see you for days."

\---

Jim exhales over the wet patch he's pressed to Sebastian's skin, and there's a purr to his voice that slurs his English in a thick accent that's better suited for Gaelic then this foreign language he's been forced to adapt to.

"Not worse...better."

Jim shifts with a roll of his hips to drag a trail of kisses over taut muscles, nipping and sucking a bloom of bruises, adding to the garden that already spreads under Sebastian’s collar from earlier attention. He drops his hands to drag over the front of Sebastian's chest, worming into the depths of his coat to unravel his tie, tugging it out of the way so he can loosen the buttons at his collar.

"You've got me squirming in your lap and you’re thinking of what it’s like when I'm not here?"

Jim pulls back to arch an eyebrow and then suddenly shifts his weight back on Sebastian's knee to send his foot down against the gas pedal, making the engine roar to life.

\---

Sebastian breathes slow and heavy, an effort to keep focused and calm as arms stay outstretched to the wheel around either side of Jim's little body. Now he's determined to keep his gaze ahead even when Jim moves against him, chin tilting up, exposing a cut of his throat, swallowing underneath a mouth that graces the abused flesh.

It's a dangerous game the other boy plays, pressing weight down on that leg, but the older boy does nothing to prevent how the car suddenly goes barreling forward under the influence, shifting gears to accommodate. Sebastian's heart races, picking up faster than the needle chases numbers, fingers tightening on the leather wheel of the Porsche.

"Would you rather _I_ killed us?"

He speaks huskily, brows furrowed with concentration but there's a smirk peeling the corner of his mouth back slowly.

"You know how I can't keep my hands to myself. Not around you. Right from the start." He's weaving smoothly around another car, going far too fast and far too suddenly but the adrenaline goes flooding into his veins and he doesn't care.

"I lose control." It comes out as a breathy whisper.

\---

Jim shakes his head as his body lurches forward with the increased speed, then he splays back across the wheel, partially obscuring Sebastian's view. His fingers are dipping into the dress shirt now, skimming down lower until they close around a nipple, tugging and teasing it to hardness with a constant rub of the pad of his finger.

"You won't kill us...you want that prize at the finish line. "

He drags his hand across to tease the opposite nipple atop smooth pectorals, arching forward again to reattach his mouth to the underside of Sebastian's throat like a limpet. He adores having this power, having the older boy desperate to touch, especially when he can't.

"You never had control..." Jim sighs against his throat, teeth grazing over Sebastian's adam's apple. Were they wolves, it'd be the ultimate sign of submission, letting the Alpha press his teeth to your throat, possessing the opportunity to snap jaws shut and end your life for good.

They may not be wolves, but Sebastian is still too trusting.

"Faster, 'Bastian. Harder." He drawls, snapping his teeth together just inches from the older boy's skin.

\---

Jim spread over the wheel of the vehicle puts him in Sebastian's view and vivid blue flicks over his face and down his visible torso with a look lecherous enough to get him arrested for public indecency. They refocus on the road quickly because several tons of metal speeding down a stretch of tar that is not exactly clear of obstacle is quite a death wish to glance away from. Sebastian may trust the teeth at his throat not to rip out his jugular but Jim trusts Sebastian's reflexes and muscle control enough to put his life in between those tightly gripped hands. As if he knows that Sebastian would bend the earth and break time just to protect him from harm. And yes, to claim the prize at the end of this dangerous phantom race.

"No, Jim." He practically breathes the words in a sensual tone.

His knuckles are white. Heart races violently beneath hands that explore his skin and tease, a nasal breath drawn in that escapes from lips he parts. His foot pushes down further, easing into the increase until there's no faster the Porsche can go. He smooths around another car they've run up on and it's almost certain they are going to pass by a waiting patrol but Sebastian does as Jim beckons first and foremost, laws be damned.

"You have all of it." And what does he need it for when he hands all control over to Jim.

\---

Fingers curl in and nails rake down the length of Sebastian's torso, leaving red lines in their wake that tempt the blood to rise to the surface. The wind is whipping through the car and sending those slicked blond strands dancing across the older boy's forehead, and Jim's messy black halo of hair tickling under Sebastian's smooth jaw. It's a testament to the speed at which they lurch along the old country road and every time the car swerves around an obstacle, their bodies shift in unison. His blood is pumping as adrenaline seeps through his veins; his body tensing, anticipating a crash.

That tension bubbles up inside of him and releases as laughter, and Jim's thighs test the stitches of the slim tailored trousers as he rocks upon his throne of flesh. Fingers smooth down across Sebastian's navel, skimming over the faint smatter of soft golden trail till the tight waistband impedes any further drag of the digits.

"Because I have you. All of you."

And his lips seal back around the side of Sebastian's neck, sucking until the blood vessels break and more contusions rise to the surface in a morbid claim of ownership.

\---

Having Jim wriggle about atop his lap does nothing good for Sebastian's sanity and everything right for his senses. Nails bite the skin and make him lose his rhythm, mouth and teeth on his neck making it difficult to find again, fingers getting lower and lower on his torso, chasing any chance it may come back soon. He's already worked up, half hard with arousal and trapped beneath Jim's mercy, threat of death a violent rush in their pressed bodies.

"You always will."

Sebastian's tongue slides across his lips as if he can taste it in the air and already he _hungers_ for Jim. Out of the corner of his eye- sheer stupid luck- a patrol has pulled off the road and he barely catches sight of an officer standing at the window of the other vehicle as they blaze by. Even if they stop what they are doing to chase, they won't catch up now. The turn down the long stretch of mansions is coming up fast and Sebastian's mouth turns playful with a grin.

"Jim, hold on."

It’s a warning, it comes out clear, no hands to spare to secure the other boy against him so it's all on Jim to brace himself.

He has half a minute, if Sebastian has calculated correctly and while his strongest suit may be literary, he's no novice to these measures; he knows he's right. Foot off the gas and grip on the handbrake, he jerks his arm, rubber and tar grinding together, screaming in protest as they begin to glide across the pavement. The sound mixes into the violent melody of the orchestra playing over the radio as the car slides into a 90 degree turn and puts them on the next road, accelerating immediately to straighten them out as they go barreling down the stretch of mansions and estates. It's a good thing none of these posh bastards let their children play beyond the gates because Sebastian wouldn't stop fast enough to avoid smashing into them.

\---

At the warning, Jim draws in a deep breath and braces himself, thighs squeezing around Sebastian's as he crumples forwards and clings to the older boy, eyes squeezing tight. The tires squeal against tar, and Jim lets out a small shaky gasp as the car spins. His heart is in his throat, and his whole body quivers with excitement as the car gains traction again.

He shivers as the mansions whip by and he's breathless, arching up out of his clutch with a breathy laugh.

"Hurry, hurry."

He whispers, arching back up and nipping at Sebastian's ear, biting savagely at it a moment later and then boldly licking down the length of Sebastian's neck, the adrenaline thrumming through him needing an outlet. Their suits are so limiting, and the wool protests the movement of his limbs. There might possibly be a whine trapped in his throat and he's grown considerably more wriggly.

"'Bastian, I'm getting impatient. You should have picked a faster car." And now he's just biting harshly, grinding the ridge of the older boy's collarbone between his teeth.

\---

And it's Sebastian's turn to laugh, dangerous thrill sparking through him, tumbling out as an effortless chuckle that gets caught in the whip of open windows and hurried instruments. But he's pushing the speed as fast as he can and they fly down the road while Jim expels his practically vibrating energy by way of teeth on his skin; ear to neck to defined collarbone under assault. He exhales, that sharkish grin wide across his face and he's so eager to get there he'd intentionally mow down those previously mentioned children if they got between him and the manor.

"Fastest car we have."

Houses fly by, eventually becoming a long blur of walls and gates mismatched like patchwork. A stretch that should have taken nearly 15 minutes cuts down to barely half and he starts to ease off the gas when he passes the most recognizable landmarks that lead to the Moran estate. It gives him time to reach up and click repeatedly at the gate button well before they've fallen into reasonable speed and pull into the drive, but he circles to the front of house more quickly than he probably should and comes to a halt right at the steps; putting the car back in the garage be damned.

\---

When they finally peel into the driveway and the car squeals to a stop, Jim is jerked back to smash an elbow against the steering wheel, sending the horn blaring out their arrival like an unholy herald. Jim's hand scrambles for the keys and he twists them from the starter and throws them across into the back seat, grabbing for the door handle with the opposite hand. He shoves the door open and squeezes at Sebastian's waist with a sharp inward jab of his knobby knees.

"Are you going to take me to bed or are you going to fuck me in the car?"

A dark eyebrow arches and he reaches up to snake his arms around Sebastian's neck, making it clear he's not moving an inch anywhere himself.

\---

Jim's elbow into the wheel makes him laugh, watching the other boy all but move in half a scramble to wrench the keys free and toss them carelessly into the backseat where his bag of clothing also happened to be. He's all shark, the wide and wicked sort of expression a man gets when he's got sin on the mind.

Both arms curl around Jim and he slides out of the car, one foot on pavement at a time, hoisting the other boy up well above the concrete with his better arm for support under that cute arse. He doesn't even bother to shut the door in his wake as he heads straight for the steps to the entryway, using the plastered hand to fondle the brass handle open and after he steps inside, he leaves that one ajar too.

But they aren't alone in the foyer and Nigel stands by the foot of the steps as if he'd just surfaced from the downstairs office, opening his mouth and looking half startled by their entrance. He quickly recovers as if to pretend they aren't tangled like they are.

"Sebastian, you need to speak--" Maybe you can't blame him for trying. Maybe. But Sebastian immediately cuts him off, laughing his words effortlessly, not a pause in his steps as he ascends the stairs with Jim in his grasp.

"I _really_ don't care." Emphasis there, it’s not even bitter amusement.

The telephone rings down the hall and the butler doesn't make another effort to argue, he turns to hurry for the annoying drill and he'll fetch the door Sebastian left open because what damn use is he otherwise.

The blond heads directly for the bedroom without another interruption and this door he will close- and lock if he's got the second to spare it.


	24. Fire Meet Gasoline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Burn with me tonight.
> 
> The story of Moriarty and Moran, from the very beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Important note!  
>  We will be on a brief hiatus for the first two Saturdays of April. This may be extended another week, depending on circumstances. This is due to Octofied and I being away at [221B con](http://www.221bcon.com/) between the 9th - 13th and I (Baru) will be traveling for a short time afterward, so our availability to write will be strained.**  
> But we both promise we will not leave you hanging for too long!
> 
> And in case you are attending 221Bcon also, there will be a [Mormor gathering](http://bendydicky.tumblr.com/post/112441002513/okay-so-guys-ive-been-putting-this-off-because-i) on Saturday (teehee)! We will definitely be there! Don't be shy (even though we totally are.)
> 
> And as always, thank you to our darling [Hippano](http://hippano.tumblr.com/)!

As Jim's lifted for the second time today, he decides he likes this angle much better, at least while he's riled up and excited. He likes looking down at Sebastian's handsome face, fingers clinging around broad shoulders and legs tangled tight around the boy's waist.

When they step into the foyer and Nigel blurts out an attempt to stop their path to the upstairs bedroom, Jim rears back to look down his nose at the butler, a scoff sounding in his throat that could nearly pass as a hiss. As Sebastian continues on to jog up the stairs, Jim presses close so he can glare over the heir's shoulder at the steward before he scurries off.

Finally, they've reached the bedroom and Jim's lowered down to a freshly made bed, no doubt a result of Sebastian's many staff. But he hasn't time to admire linens, for he's making short work of the remaining buttons on Sebastian's shirts. He rips the fabric away and tugs Sebastian against him, writhing with impatience as he finally smashes their mouths together.

\---

Sebastian doesn't even notice the bedding has been changed, blues and creams now rich reds and accented golds atop deep maroon sheets; even the pillows have been swapped for matching sets. The room is still drenched in shadow with the curtains pulled shut, making Jim's dark suit look black against his pale skin but that's another sight he won't have time to admire.

Their mouths come together and Sebastian presses his good hand into the bed, forgetting not to do the same with the other. When he feels the bite of his weak, mending bones protesting the pressure of his hand straining with weight, he hisses into their bruising mouths and pulls it off the mattress. Instead, it flicks up to Jim's neck and catches a finger under the knot of his perfectly tied silk, giving it a tug to free it of itself in one quick gesture to the side.

Sebastian growls softly against the lips he bites at, whispering eagerly against the pink velvet he's abused. "That suit is coming off, Jim."

Tongue slides over the flesh he nips, fingers already working buttons free at the collar of soft gray, impatient, wanting his skin, no matter how short a time ago it was he had done exactly this.

"I'll be gentle." He promises for the care of his boyfriend's new finery, knowing how he covets it.

\---

As Sebastian hisses with pain into his mouth, Jim is momentarily startled, because he hasn't done anything to warrant it. He figures it out once the plastered hand tucks up under his chin to work the silk tie free. Sebastian's growl sends shivers throughout his body, and no matter how much Jim likes to be in control, it thrills him to no end when Sebastian is assertive like this.

He simply nods in reply, jaw setting as the fabric parts and is pushed off, a once pale and smooth torso now littered with blemishes. The bruises on his abdomen and stomach have completely faded, leaving only the burst of contusions that spill down his collar from Sebastian's eager mouth.

Jim's a bit breathless by now, and he fights with Sebastian's fingers to peel off his belt and shove at his suit trousers. Gentle isn't a word he cares about at the moment, not when he's eager and fearless. He kicks the material down his legs, and gives a soft sigh as the tighter wool confines slip down and free the curve of his burgeoning erection from being forcibly pressed against his inner thigh.

Suits are lovely, but right now, he covets Sebastian's touch.

\---

With a knee crushing into the soft bed and one foot still firm on the floor, Sebastian has balance enough for both hands to take apart the crisp fabric in his way. He plucks open each side of the button up and peels jacket and dress shirt off together, just managing not to get rough about it until he tosses the tangled pieces in the direction of the furniture parked at the foot of the massive bed. As Jim starts to fight with the belt, Sebastian leaves it to his deconstruction and takes the quick moment to pull off the boy's new leather shoes, sending them not exactly tenderly thudding to the ground while socks get shed and left where they fall. Then trousers are all but shoved and yanked and he at least takes a second to toss those towards the top layers already discarded, never mind if they actually make it that far.

Sebastian is impatient but even more so for having to stop again so he preempts the strip of his own attire, jacket off and to the floor, braces slide off his shoulders, yanking himself carelessly out of the shirt and kicking shoes off in a hurry. Too many damn layers, he sets both feet down on hardwood just long enough for trousers to collapse onto the floor.

He can deal with pants, that's enough waiting, enough of his eyes catching on the sight of Jim in the bed, impatient and hurried and breathless. His pale skin is a garden of Sebastian's adoration, glowing pinkish with warm excitement and he's already hard with want- Bloody hell, Jim is fucking gorgeous. Sebastian's kneeing the bed again, grabbing up Jim, clashing them together to make up for wasted time.

"And still perfection." He mumbles hot against Jim as their mouths meet violently, needing no suit to think so. He has leverage for balance here at the edge so he stays, pressing Jim into him as if the goal truly was to make them a single entity or else he wouldn't survive.

\---

Jim huffs at the claim of perfection, he knows he's far from it, but Sebastian is blinded by his obsession and the Irish boy has no problem taking advantage of it. As they crush together, bare skin touches bare skin and sends a thrill throughout his body, sparking every nerve ending like electricity. Teeth clash together, biting at lips and tongue as if they are trying to devour each other.

And perhaps they are, to meld together and become one. They were already planning to twine their futures together, what are their bodies but another thing to push into something shared. Jim lets himself be jerked and manipulated into the older's boy's embrace, needing his strong arms to keep Jim together because he feels like he might vibrate apart.

His own arms scramble to circle around a muscled torso that is nearly twice as broad as his own, fingers curling like claws to find purchase against the tanned skin. He has to rip free of the kiss to breathe and as he pants, he stares up at Sebastian, eyes gone completely dark with lust. Because yes, he's just as hungry as Sebastian.

\---

Hunger is a good word for it. Hunger is a need, it's a force in your body that controls you, something you can't ignore if you hope to survive and Sebastian _hungers_ for Jim in a way far stronger than that animal instinct. Not just now, in this moment; always.

He breathes open mouthed in heavy drags of air and stares half lidded and drowning in an adrenaline fueled rush of desire, just for seconds, as if he's gathering all the things he wants to do to Jim right into his fingertips before he puts them to action. Damn the bloody pants, he's decided he's had enough of barriers and layers. The other boy has a grip on his neck and he uses it, upper lip curling slight, almost aggressively with his sudden detest of fabric.

"Don't move." It's husky, impatient. He lets go of his embrace long enough to drag calloused fingertips down Jim's sides and grab the fabric at the band. The only kindness he does is lifting up the elastic to avoid scraping across Jim's cock as he yanks them down his thighs and roughly gets them free of slender legs, dropping them into the abyss of shed clothing at the edge of the bed. One of those hands snaps back to Jim's waist in a soft slap of flesh as he grips; the poor left catches his own boxers by the band and fuck it all, he just pushes them down single handedly and lets them fall the rest of the way to their only useful place among the wreckage.

That's it, no more things getting in the way, no more damn barriers, no people, no awkward seating and nothing to dampen sounds. He grabs up Jim and pushes him further onto the mattress but he's not giving up his advantage when he has use of two hands here, even one that’s only half as useful. He hooks one of them under Jim's knee and coaxes it to bend up, expecting him to heel the mattress as he nudges thighs well apart with his backhand. Then the limb is suddenly gone and the sound of a drawer snapping open so close by is plenty heard as he fetches a familiar bottle.

\---

Jim stiffens momentarily as Sebastian barks an order at him, but he obeys, stilling as the boy strips off the last scraps of fabric between them. He's hardly bashful, he's got no urge to shyly curl in on himself. Not that it'd be easy to accomplish with Sebastian handling him up the bed, pushing him to the mattress. The blond is even bold enough to grab at his legs and position him however he likes, nudging thighs apart, but not touching anywhere Jim really wants him to.

And Jim feels like he’s in a surreal haze, giving a deep inhale that might just be a gasp as the drawer snaps open and bits and bobs are pushed around until Sebastian returns to loom over him with the bottle he's retrieved. Jim tilts his head back against the pillows and looks straight up at Sebastian, a flush matching him to the scarlet duvet beneath him.

He knows what's coming now, he's been teasing Sebastian enough about it. He tilts his chin up and brings his hands up to lay listless against the mattress, not impeding Sebastian's actions in any way. He said don't move and Jim is taking it to heart, frozen in place as the other boy looms over him, lips slightly parted as his chest rises and falls with every breath.

\---

Sebastian may have stripped down all of his patience for the usual dance of mouths and bodies but he hasn't become an animal yet. He's direct, to the point with his next movements and for just a moment, it means he has to leave Jim alone- a complete tragedy.

For that reason, he doesn’t waste any time, the cap pops open and he drenches the good hand, fuck it if drops manage to make it to the fresh bedclothes, they surely won't be the only thing. He's coating fingers plenty and well and fast, then drips more into a small puddle on his hand, closing digits around each other. Dipping that hand down between Jim's thighs and nuzzling between pert cheeks, he rubs warmed, slick moisture over the ring of muscle and nerves, pressing gently, thorough in his preparation as he starts to coax a finger in, making sure the excess is used.

The cap is snapped shut in his other hand, the bottle left just near the dip of mattress where his knee holds his weight because he'll need it again. This is familiar and there is no aggression about it, but he is neither slow and agonizing as he slides a digit inside, feeling the tight stretch around him and now that he's in known waters, Sebastian drags his eyes upward over Jim's form to watch him splayed out on the spill of red and gold. And actually, Jim looks exquisite against the deep red, pale skinned with rosy glow and dark hair.

\---

Sebastian wastes no time in getting right down to it, and Jim's only got himself to blame for riling him up so much. He knows now not to brace himself for the probe of a finger, but instead forces himself to relax and accept the intrusion. The burn and stretch is still there, but not quite as painful as before. Jim's fingers twitch and his brow furrows, but he wants this as much as Sebastian, so he bites his lip and bears it.

As the finger continues on, pushing further in, Jim can't hold it in anymore and he gasps, his thin chest shaking as his body wants to fight the press of the thick digit. But obviously he withstood more before, and he'll have to accommodate even more than that.

Skimming his feet across the duvet, he spreads his thighs apart wider and shifts his hips to take in the finger easier. It feels less awkward than the first time, but Jim still feels a bit ridiculous. Even if Sebastian turns his head up to stare at him like he's hung the moon.

\---

Single to start and it does not stay idle, drawing in and out, getting the constricting muscles reacquainted with their first limit. But Sebastian has his second hand available still and he isn't going to waste it simply laying at rest on one of Jim's spread knees, even if it is delightful just to watch.

"Don't hold your breath, Jim."

It's not as sharp as before, but his voice is still low and commanding like it’s on the verge of a growl, not that he has any delusions as to who is really in charge here. But his free hand goes straight for Jim's cock, half curled fingers and a testing thumb sliding along the length, keeping his half plastered palm away from tender skin while he touches. As he curves the digit inside, he draws his other hand up to the sheathed crown and rubs with his thumb, slow and teasing, not yet seeking underneath the foreskin.

It's a trick you play on the body, two sensations at once; one conflicting and the other certain, making them mingle together to form a distraction from the discomfort. So while he starts to press more firmly across the tip, searching out precome as he circles his finger beneath the cover of skin, he's gentle about introducing a second well-slicked finger inside after he's convinced Jim is comfortable enough to take it.

\---

As if he'd completely forgotten until Sebastian mentioned it, Jim lets out a rush of breath and instantly, everything is easier. Or maybe that's because Sebastian's other hand curls around his cock, and the niggling hints of discomfort are replaced by a pleasing shiver. Some of the tension slips out of his body, and Jim's lips part with a soft "Ah!~" as Sebastian's thumb skims across the tip of flushed, tender skin.

The sting of the second finger barely registers with the elder of the two so careful and calculated with his movements. Jim's eyes flutter back open as a twist of his hips chase the sensation, taking the questing digits in further. He's greedy and remembers well a deeper touch equals pleasure far better than a quick hand on his cock.

His hands feel useless, and twitching fingers reach out to brush over Sebastian's smooth jaw, up across his cheek and then into his hair, twirling the blond strands around his fingers. It’s all sweetness until it's not, digits stiffening and tugging at the handful of silky strands when Sebastian's fingers finally work deep enough to skim across the edge of that nerve bundle and Jim cries out in response.

\---

There's something of a personal smirk on that mouth now, tugging at the corner like a fishhook caught on his lip. Jim's hands serve to entice and he intentionally curls those digits to find the knot that shifting body so eagerly wants stroked. And Jim is so very expressive about it, the squirm of his hips and the noises he makes, slender digits pulling at pale gold. Sebastian wants to draw it out, listen to the sweet tenor of that voice to make up for what he was denied hearing in the hush of the cinema seats, but all is meant with purpose and he won't allow himself to be distracted by the seductive sound.

The massage of his fingers working against the bundle of nerves is accompanied by the fingers wringing Jim's cock, the foreskin being peeled down slowly and then slid back over the crown as he draws his grip in short strokes over the glans. But he moves without hurry, intentionally trying to keep the other boy from getting worked up too far before he's had the chance to take another digit; and he's going to need the third, maybe even the fourth.

Sebastian's gaze wanders over the pale form meanwhile, to see Jim’s expression twist and change, to watch every breath that stutters and flexes in that pale chest, waiting for eagerness, a desperation for more.

\---

Oh he's breathless, even with Sebastian's advice. His pale skin has flushed nearly scarlet in some places, blotting out the blue veins that usually spider through porcelain. Jim can't focus on any one sensation, and yet it's still not enough, the fingers don't stroke hard enough to give him what he wants, and neither does the hand curled around his cock. They are just touches to distract him through the preparation, but Jim is far too smart of a boy to let anything override his brain this quickly. It's no surprise that Jim's impatient, so neither should it be when his body arches up off the mattress and a high pitched whine works its way from his throat.

"'Bastian..! I swear to god I'm going to kick you in the dick if you don't fucking hurry up and fuck me!" The snarl is slurred and several words get lost in his thick accent as he squirms beneath the blond, letting go of Seb's hair to rake his fingers down the side of his face and shove obnoxiously at his cheek with a breathy huff.

\---

Underneath the drag of Jim's fingers across his face, Sebastian's cheeks stretch around the wide curve of the grin that breaks out, a chuckle rolling deep in his throat as he's threatened quite dramatically and shoved half heartedly. He draws his head back straight from the incline Jim has forced it into, glancing up at the frustrated expression..

"Patience, Sternchen. Not yet."

His tone is firm but amused, as if to try and convince his tempestuous boyfriend that the wait is a better idea. But in response, fingers curl tighter around his cock and calloused thumb rubs across the bared tip, smearing precome in circular movement. He eases fingers back to just the tips and gently coaxes a third to join, but this is a new limit, so he remains careful in the intrusion, steady and methodical in stretching the tight muscles. Digits are slick against the resistance, delving deeper a little faster so they might massage the inner walls and give him something to really squirm about.

\---

Jim whines again as Sebastian tells him to be patient, and his finger curls in and hooks into the corner of that shark's smile, tugging his cheek out from the inside. Jim's being tortured so sweetly, and still his big brown eyes manage to narrow into a glare, but its usual heat is missing as his lip quivers so much he has to draw it in between his teeth to keep it from shaking off.

He's not good at doing anything anyone tells him, and it'd be hell for anyone who ever thought him submissive, but he listens, dropping his hand back down to curl at the duvet, clenching and unclenching as he vibrates with impatience.

Sebastian works his cock with more calculated rubs of his thumb, and Jim knows the new rush of pleasure is to cover up the introduction of another finger. He whimpers at the stretch, but it's followed by the thick pads of Sebastian's fingers dragging inside of him. Jim _squeals_ and can't help himself from thrashing on the mattress, legs flailing a bit and clipping Sebastian on the thigh with his foot.

He's not just impatient for Sebastian to hurry along, he feels exposed lying here and misses the crush of his warm body. But the older boy wants to do everything _proper_.

\---

It's rather adorable, Sebastian can admit that about the way Jim protests both verbally and harmlessly, but he does seem to listen to the implication of reason in Seb's voice. Jim is still, by all important accounts, the one in charge and that means Sebastian does move right along at his urgings, laughing softly another time as the other boy squirms much more pointedly with his slender limbs.

He gives him a few moments to get use to this new boundary, careful about the way he presses and moves his digits inside, but firm in his touch when he kneads that knot of nerves. With three digits now, he slowly twists his wrist, turning the angle of the width, being thorough that Jim's body adjusts to the size. His hand makes up for it in kind as he strokes the length of flushed cock in varied pressures, a little faster than before.

Sebastian has larger hands, thicker fingers, the size of three which make up four of Jim's and a method of spreading them oh so gently to encourage the stretch because four is a burden of too many lengths and not enough control. It would be reasonable that three is enough and he's not convinced that Jim will wait another several minutes to take another. So at last, his _proper_ preparations may very well be at their end. A little longer, the careful work of his hand thrusting soft and slow, before his left abandons its task and reaches higher, touching pale abdomen to still Jim for a moment. Sebastian leans down further to leave a kiss above his navel as fingers slip free, nice and easy.

His knee is still pressed into the mattress while the other foot stays planted amongst a sea of shed clothing, the blond straightens up and delves a hand in the open drawer again, this time surfacing with a condom.

\---

Jim doesn't so much feel the stretch as pain anymore, his synapses are sparking mixed signals to the point where everything just feels like pleasure. His complaints have tapered off, replaced with heaving pants and a tongue that keeps repeatedly slipping past his bottom lip without his awareness.

And then suddenly there's nothing but a hand on his abdomen and lips on his stomach and Jim feels so utterly empty that he has to stop himself from sobbing at the loss of pressure.

He breathes again, and Sebastian is shifting above him, digging through the drawer once more. Jim's brow furrows in confusion until he realizes what Sebastian has fished out. There's a bit of a conflict that makes Jim squirm, because it's the proper thing to do since the older boy's had others, had people before Jim. And Jim hates that, hates that people have _mattered_ who aren't him. Hates that there has to be a barrier at all.

Jim sits up, pushing the mattress with his hands, reaching for Sebastian's wrists and holding him captive as he arches up for a kiss. He wrestles the foil package from Sebastian's grasp, and leans forwards on his knees, glancing up at the blond from beneath thick, dark lashes before putting the corner of the packet between his teeth and ripping it open. He tilts his head for a moment, considering the bit of rubber before he reaches out and pushes it onto the tip of Sebastian's long ignored cock, rolling it down to the thick base. His fingers are slick with lubrication from the condom, he rubs them on his thigh before looking up expectantly at Sebastian, and there's something horribly innocent about the way he asks,

"How do you want me, Sebastian?"

\---

It’s an automated response, grabbing a condom. Something that has always been a necessity and he hasn't considered Jim's possible conflict on the matter. Although maybe he should have, knowing what he does of Jim's possessive grip over him. When his wrists are taken before he can tear the packaging, he glances up in time to have Jim rising higher and catching him in a kiss and honestly, that's lovely, like it's been too long. He so easily leans into it, almost resisting when the other boy breaks away again.

Clear blue watches him intently as he tears open the package, lips tugging with amusement at the way Jim puts on a kind of seductive display and he falls for it flawlessly whether it's actually intended or not. There's a soft intake of breath when he's touched, exhaling slow and controlled as latex is rolled down the considerable length in a snug fit. Jim returns to him, gaze cast upward and a question lingering in the air but for a moment, it's Sebastian's turn to be a little breathless.

Then his arms move and curl around the smaller frame, pulling Jim against him just for a time as he tilts his face into cheek and jaw to leave kisses on the skin.

"I think you had the right idea. I want to see you..." He tilts back enough to look at him, eyes scanning Jim's face before they focus on his gaze. "We'll go at your pace. You'll be in control."

But never without support. He waits for some indication that Jim is accepting of the idea before he'll crawl onto the bed and half prop himself up on the mountain of red and gold pillows at the head. There will be a single delay longer when he slicks an extra coat of lube over the latex as final preparation, before beckoning Jim with an open arm when he's settled.

\---

As Sebastian's arms curl around him and pull him in, there's a rush that fills him and reminds him how much he longs for the warmth and feel of the older boy's embrace. It's comfort and safety and something foreign that evades Jim's awareness only because he runs from the truth of it. The kisses pressed to his face make him shiver with pleasure, his skin hypersensitive from all the stimulation. He looks up at Sebastian as the boy pulls back, and nods.

Once Sebastian shifts up the mattress and settles back against the pillows, Jim follows suit, climbing up into the blond's lap. This is wonderfully familiar, and he leans down and kisses Sebastian again, letting it linger a bit longer this time to build up his courage. He can feel the press of Sebastian's eager cock against his arse however, and he doesn't put it off any longer.

Pushing up onto his knees, he reaches around behind him and grabs a hold of the base of Sebastian's cock, holding it steady as he drops down slowly till the slicked tip is pressed against him. Biting his lip, he presses gently till the glans push past the stretched ring of muscle. Jim exhales and looks right up at Sebastian as he slides down, eyelids fluttering at the girth that's certainly thicker than a finger or two. It takes him a while, but he sinks down till he's filled to bursting, resting on Sebastian's hips again. There's a glaze of pain in his eyes, and his erection has flagged a bit, but he hardly feels put off by it. There's something so wonderfully satisfying about having Sebastian inside of him, something that handjobs and head just can't quite give him.

"Oh..." Is all he can manage, and it's breathy from his heart fluttering furiously in his chest. He sits perfectly still for a moment or two, adjusting to the feel until finally he can shift and rock forwards, rolling his hips to move himself back up.

\---

There is a touch that refuses to leave Jim. When he leans down for a prolonged kiss, it's a light bend of knuckle resting underneath the other boy's chin. When he sits up straighter and shifts into position, it's the hand which comes to rest on Jim's hip and it lingers there with little pressure at all, as if waiting for a moment it might need to offer support, its battered twin not far behind in just barely touching a rosy little knee digging into the mattress. And when Jim settles against his lap again, still and breathless, it's the hand that slides carefully to a milky thigh and lays there to wait with him.

But his hand is a far more stable thing than the rest. His eyes stay fixated, at first watching movement; Sebastian almost forgets his own advice to breathe. But he does in controlled heaves that startle and fall ragged once Jim begins to ease down onto his cock, chest dipping and skin going taut over bone as he lets the air tumble out to its last. The forced rhythm gets away from him and he sighs to catch up again.

He'd all but forgotten what this was like... Jim is tight, warm the way his fingertips are always not, and the slow press inside is near agonizing. It's far more intense just now than it has ever been. There's something attached to the base instinct of pleasure, a desire he hasn't had for someone rather than something. His eyes catch Jim gazing at him and blue meets that dark stare where they hold until lashes flutter and his head dips back slightly with an exhale as Jim stills atop him.

They probably both need that pause. Muscles contract and squeeze around him, trying to get use to the intrusion and he can feel every tense pull the way Jim must feel every twitch. But _oh_ is he fucking divine, breathless and flushed and his expression so sweetly affected. Sebastian wants to kiss him again, wants to lean up and curl his arms around that too thin frame, but he dares not shift Jim until he's ready and so all he has is that hand, fingers stroking across soft thigh to say the things he has no words for.

And then Jim begins to move his glorious little hips and all the effort Sebastian's made to keep lungs calm go to waste. It's exquisite, a sound accompanying the exhale that gets away from him, almost swearing under the rush but there's barely a discernible syllable. He rolls his tongue over his lips slowly and tilts his chin, watching the little frame move atop him like living artwork.

\---

It’s so much easier to push through the pain when he's moving, and the drag and shift of pressure is no longer in one place long enough to cause pain. It’s not like fingers at all, having Sebastian's cock stuffed inside of him; he feels like he's being split, because the man is in no way small, but Jim is persistent and pushes through the stuttering pace until it becomes a smooth glide.

Jim slips his hand down over the one curled about his hip, but he continues on to place both hands down against Sebastian's broad chest, bracing himself as his movements become more fluid. There's only bitten off little gasps escaping his open mouth at first, but soon he's properly moaning as the thick shaft touches every bit of his insides, too much and not enough at the same time.

He's greedy, shifting his hips to find the right angle that fills him just right, and when he finally manages it, he cries out triumphantly and rides Sebastian to chase the sensation. His own cock is hard and dripping again after a few deep thrusts against his prostate, but he ignores it, too focused on chasing the sparks of sensation that make him shudder and pant atop the older boy.

And how dare this feckin' sod make Jim do all the work, but right now, he doesn't have the mind to complain, just the desire to continue.

\---

It's quite a display. And what a perfect view he has of it, being half propped up on the collage of excessively unnecessary throw pillows. Sebastian is greedy enough in his own rights to take it all in, to drag his sight over pale skin from top to bottom, trying to memorialize the moment in his mind eternally but let’s not get away from the present, either. Jim is finding his pace, getting comfortable with the motion of his hips and the angles which work for him, while Sebastian holds steady beneath him, the rock which braces small hands, reveling in the sensations of electricity buzzing underneath the skin as Jim rides him. There's nothing like it; men, women, hands, mouths, even thighs- nothing and no one like Jim.

He's regained his deep breaths but not without great effort, and his fingers begin to press against the flushed ivory as Jim moans and trembles, muscles squeezing every time he hits the spot he's found and coveted. That voice makes Sebastian sigh heavily; oh how he missed hearing the arrangement of sounds Jim makes but this simply isn't enough. Maybe it's never enough. He wants more. He wants everything, like a hungry beast pacing, waiting.

Sitting idle isn't something either of them can do for long, so it's Sebastian's good fingers that find their way around Jim's weeping cock, catching up moisture and stroking, his grip firmer with the good right hand as he matches the pace of Jim's ministrations.

\---

When Sebastian's fingers close around Jim's cock, he finally does sob, a deep shaky thing bubbling up from his chest. It completes the loop of sensation and Jim can't stop the moaning sobs that take over his body, making it shudder violently as he still rocks a top Sebastian. It's more than overwhelming, and Jim has to snatch his hands up off Sebastian's chest to press his hands to his eyes, giving little wails as his body still moves beyond his control to chase that feeling.

His thighs are weak and thin, and his pace slows till he's just circling his hips, grinding himself down on the cock and squeezing tightly every time he shudders.

[“If you aren't going to come inside of me, you at least better make us come together.”]*

He barely gets the words out from behind his hands, wailing the whole time with each jerk of his hips, the constant press on his prostate making him leak precome steadily until there must be a pool of it spilled across Sebastian's stomach. 

\---

This cry is different from any other and as it shudders out of Jim, something inside of Sebastian goes asunder. He hasn't stopped, still seeking the contact even when he's reduced to writhing atop the blond and Sebastian doesn't have the capability just now to decide if it's a loss of energy or pleasure pulling apart Jim’s concentration. Hands leave his chest and he inhales sharply as if something is taken from him when the weight is gone. They press over Jim's eyes instead, sweet distress hidden behind them.

And there it is, Gaelic scattering from those lips. It makes him moan to hear how Jim's voice falls apart, raking at his senses like a pressure point. Heat runs through his veins, riling the older boy into action to make up for what begins to waver in strength. Sebastian reaches out with his still free arm, lifting broad shoulders off the incline of red and gold to wrap it around Jim's tiny waist, pulling the upper half of their bodies closer. His mouth mashes against center torso, a smearing kiss against the thinly wrapped sternum, shifting his hips down into the soft mattress and thrusting up into the roll of Jim's to meet that sweet spot in a firm tap even sooner.

There's just enough space between their lower bodies for his hand to continue, precome slicking his palm, allowing him to quicken his pace as every snap of his hips knocks air and moan out if his body, washing over the pale skin his mouth presses hard against.

\---

When Sebastian arches up and pulls him in, arm wrapped around his waist, his moans stutter again as that contact rushes back. The kiss smashed against his chest feel like fire burning right down through his flesh and ribcage to sear his heart. With a gasp, he drops his hands from his face and they fall to Sebastian's shoulders, listless for a few moments till Jim registers the body against him.

And suddenly they are scrambling to wrap around Sebastian's back and pull him closer. Jim folds down and presses his face against blond strands that have long since wilted from the product that once held them. He sobs now in Sebastian's hair, whimpers and speaking babble in a Celtic tongue right beside Sebastian's ear. Not that the older boy understands any of it, but it's doubtful Jim can piece together any sort of proper sentence.

Jim is completely wrecked, and he's given up moving much at all, just holding on for dear life as Sebastian thrusts up into him with snaps of his hips, bouncing the small body in his lap. He clings to Sebastian, nails biting into flesh with the desperation of his clutch.

"'Bastian...'Bas...." It's disjointed and he can't even get the name out properly on the third chant of the blond's name. He trembles and quakes and his body tenses up tight. He doesn't want to come so quickly, but he can feel it building as Sebastian strokes him even quicker. Yet he can't manage to form the words to get Sebastian to stop, to make it last.

So he falls, unraveling with a scream as he comes into the older boy's hand.

\---

Even though he can not see Jim this way, with his mouth and nose and cheek all pressed up against his chest, he vastly prefers the curl of those arms as they circle his shoulders, over the way those hands tried to hide his face. Nails drag at his back, pressing hard into the tough skin, making him breathe out another moan that buries itself into Jim's chest.

He's taken over the movement of their bodies, his arm helping to lift Jim just barely between each thrust, punctuating them a little sharper, a little faster. The stuttered sounds of broken Irish and his name crumbling apart amongst the gasps and hitch of breath become morse code between their bodies, telling more secrets than they seem to out loud. Jim clings and cries- no, sobs - his every sound by now and it's so strange and almost alarming, but he doesn't tell him to stop and Sebastian doesn't dare ask stupid questions.

Jim starts to grow tense in his grasp, his clutching tighter, muscles squeezing around his cock as it slides in and out in short strokes. It's enough to clip his already frayed control and as Jim comes, crying out right there in his ear, Sebastian holds his breath and rides out the sudden clench of inner walls trying to swallow him up. Thrusting quickly a few more times as Jim pulses in his fingers, his own arm steels around the other boy's body and they crush together so tightly there's no room left to move his hand. Sebastian comes in a stutter of gasping moans, heaving to try and put oxygen back into his desperate lungs as Jim's orgasm tapers off and his only just begins to spill into the latex barrier. Nerves fire off like the pop of fireworks and just as blinding, his eyes are wrenched shut and all he sees is darkness and release as relief floods into the amalgamation of chemicals he's stirred up today.

The tension which clutches Jim to his chest does not let go, but minutes may be passing by as he manages to relieve the burn in his torso with precious air and he starts to tilt his head up, cheek still pressed against Jim's sternum.

"Sternchen." He whispers for him and maybe it is only a sigh of affection, but perhaps it replaces a question. His hand gently lets go of Jim's expended cock, aware of how the over sensitivity snaps viciously in both of their bodies. It's slicked with come but he spares it only half a thought before curling fingers around the soiled palm and wrapping the arm around the other half of Jim's waist.

\---

Jim unravels, but there is an arm of steel that crushes around him and holds his frail body together. Surely he'd shake right apart if he wasn't held so tightly. But Sebastian wouldn't let him dissolve away into dust and air like his body and mind want at that moment. Sebastian will never, ever let him go, not when he now has Jim so completely.

The endorphins rush through his body and it's better than anything else. It's not just the juxtaposition of bodies, it’s a mental thing, coming together like this, filling another person with your essence- in a matter of speaking. Through the sparks and zaps of chemicals and rush of blood, Jim still registers the feeling of warmth rushing inside of him, even in that obnoxious barrier.

And that must mean it's finished, yes?

He gives up holding himself at all and sinks into the grasp Sebastian has on him, fingers failing to grip any longer so they drop from the shoulders they've made a bloody mess of. Collapsing against the blond, it’s a few more moments before Sebastian speaks, and Jim shifts enough so that his face is pressed to the side of the older boy's neck instead. The fingers slip free of his cock and he shudders at the sensitivity. But it's only a moment and then Sebastian is holding him again. He's a mess of sweat and other fluids, so a little more doesn't bother him in the slightest. Not when they're this close, closer than ever.

Jim's has no words, he's too exhausted for that. So in reply, he just kisses the side of Sebastian's neck and shuffles a bit closer.

\---

No protests, no complaints, not a sound. Just the touch of lips and the melting form against his, trusting him to safeguard all the pieces so they can be put back together slowly. Sebastian accepts that answer, for whatever it was supposed to mean.

He shifts rather sluggishly, his cast arm moving up a bit higher to the shoulder blades for support as he leans himself back against the mountain of pillows, taking Jim with him to settle atop his chest. They remain connected, soft spasms of electric nerves working through him, mere phantoms of activity while the heart slows down from its excited cadence. His hold on Jim loosens only enough that he can move that plastered hand just a bit higher, where the tips of his fingers draw small nonsense shapes at the nape of Jim's neck.

It's very quiet all of the sudden. Quiet enough to hear Jim breathe, as if maybe the world just ceased to exist beyond the edge of the bed. Sebastian wasn't going to bother checking because what little he could see of Jim from this position was all he cared to keep an eye on.

\---

Jim lets himself be pulled down ontop of Sebastian as the older boy settles back on the bed. Sebastian is so very warm, and he's happy to curl onto the torso beneath him. It's odd, feeling every movement of the other boy from inside, every shift and shuffle vibrating through him. His fingers twitch in response to the digits drawing on his neck, but Jim hasn't the sound mind to reproduce the gesture.

He isn't struck with emotions or some existential crisis, he's just content and happy. Despite the pain, it was a good experience, one he has no qualms repeating. But he's not going to talk about that right now, because his breathing is leveling out and he burrows closer against Sebastian's neck. He lets himself sink into a haze of bliss.

Jim hums against Sebastian's throat, eyes closed and hands just barely curled around the older boy's shoulders. He probably drifts in and out several times, lazing on top of his boyfriend who is far too accommodating to Jim's desires to sleep on top of him.

\---

This is different. A first of some kind. Another tally on a list they build but won't compare notes on.

There's no recoil or hurry to gather themselves. Breath has caught up and still they remain, linked by more than the press of their bodies when they stay intimately attached. Relaxed.

It's true, Sebastian has a history and there are no secrets about it. And in that history, sex has always been a rush. Afterwards, there may be laughter and good spirit, but it's still hurried. Too uncomfortable to linger, there was never enough to keep two people in the same room together for longer than the relief and distraction. The Sebastian Moran before Jim was not someone who sought to make connections that involved more than body and when it was over, he wanted to return to his private life alone.

But Jim has been different from everything else since the beginning. The first kiss left a scar; the second, a broken wrist. The third time was much like this, lingering and lazy. They fell asleep. And nearly every time after was a reflection of that; calm and warm. His usual burst of energy just afterwards does not fuel his escape, it leaves him aware, feeling and chasing after this peace they fall into.

And it's so quiet.

He more than prefers this. The rush of their earlier exploits in the cinema had been great fun but he quietly covets this closeness and by now it's probably not a secret. He doesn't mind that maybe the other boy is so comfortable that he's become a mattress to Jim's resting body. If he falls asleep, Sebastian won't move for as long as he can stand it. Maybe longer. And maybe he'll fall asleep as well.

Somewhere in the house, the phone rings again and at least the muffled noise tells him the world is still moving around out there. But it can go without them for a while, because he'd rather be here.

\---

It's undoubtedly romantic to stay attached like this, but it's neither practical, nor comfortable. Eventually, he is forced to push back up and away, drawing himself up off of Sebastian's body as the older boy is softening and easily slips free. Jim makes a face at the empty, sore feeling that radiates out from his abdomen, and slides off of Sebastian, his feet searching for the floor as legs swing over the edge of the mattress.

As he climbs to his feet, dull pain radiates up his spine, and the effects of innocence lost, are certainly present. He sighs and heads for the bathroom to clean himself up while he's still somewhat coherent. He's exhausted, the muscles in his arms sore from holding himself up. Jim doesn't often feel...sleepy. He tires himself out till he collapses, but now, after today, after _this_ , he is genuinely tired.

Once he finishes washing up, he shuffles back into the bedroom and makes a beeline for the bed, burrowing in under the blankets and up against the warmth that Sebastian provides. He isn't the same, he doesn't crave the touch and closeness in quite the same obsessive way Sebastian does. But there is a connection there. Jim does need him, it's obvious in the way he returns and presses against him.

He'd even tolerate an arm around him, should one find its way around his back.

Now, he can give into sleep, regardless if the blond does the same. This is the beginning of their life together, after all.

\---

None at all practical. Even though he's softened by now, the sudden change in sensation makes him sigh, a kind of loss but regain of self as they become two. That's fucking romantic for you.

He's still while Jim shifts about, tilting his head on the pillows to watch him slide off bed. There's a smile he suppresses at the subtle differences in the other boy's movement, pushing himself up and following after him with his gaze until he disappears. Right, yes. He's a mess; they both are. If he’s learned anything about Jim, it’s that the other boy barely tolerates mess.

Sebastian glances down into his lap and it takes both hands to peel the condom off with a cringe because the damn things really are awful. It's tossed into the little rubbish bin by the bed table, dabbing off with a tissue while he's at it, but it'll take a shower to clean up proper and he's not doing it now. That's a lot of moving around he's not up for, so by the time Jim resurfaces from the wash, he's already pushing around the duvet and top sheets for the other boy to go tunneling underneath when he returns.

There's suit pieces strewn about the edge of the bed, floor and the bench seat at the end but it can wait until later. They'll be cleaned, pressed and hung at another time and that leaves Sebastian with one task; getting an arm around Jim when the smaller frame returns against his. He does intend to sleep, if not for being tired, then for the sake of enjoyment. He knows the covers could do a fine job keeping Jim warm but he'd much rather do it himself.

\---

Sebastian so easily accepts Jim back into his bed, back into his arms, even though he knows how dangerous the boy is, whether he's just slept with him or not. Perhaps that's made him even more dangerous in the end, because now he's burrowing himself so deep inside of Sebastian, he's little more than a parasite. Yet his host would wither away should he ever leave. He's attached himself to an unstable person, but Sebastian can't honestly claim stability for himself either, so perhaps it was meant to be this way.

Jim lays his head down on the pillow, though perhaps it's more his shoulder. He's close, but not enough that he can't see the other boy's face, and he swears if that smug grin has in any way taken up residence, he'll find a way to break a tooth or three.

Jim is tired, yes, but the stare he gives Sebastian is one of his usual, unnerving gazes that bores directly into those pale blues and swallows them up. And yet, there is something affectionate about it; a glimmer in his dark eyes that exists for Sebastian, and Sebastian alone. He reaches up and cups a small hand over Sebastian's cheek, and huffs out a sigh. For once, his touch isn't cold, he's warmed through and through, though it can't last forever.

He hums and blinks slowly, like a content cat that had settled itself in a warm spot in the sun.

Perhaps Sebastian is his sun.

\---

Neither of them fall between the lines. Jim seems to creep steadily around the outside of them. Dark, calculated and so thin you might forget it wasn't part of the image until it was too late and the lines have been manipulated into something else. Sebastian is more like the untamed scribble that gets away when your hand becomes too confident in its strides; just a violent burst from the seam, the kind that accidentally wrinkles the paper. It could be said that Sebastian is ruining Jim's perfect picture by scribbling around inside of it.

Parasite and ruin are terribly ugly words for someone you feel affection towards. And that's what this is, staring between them. There is no smug expression on his face, his cheek simply lays against the pillow and he searches Jim's expression for whatever might be hidden there. It doesn't unnerve Sebastian the way it does other people, and though he cannot read the other boy's mind, he likes to believe he can see beyond calculation and seething darkness to find that affection staring back at him. If he's a fool to think he has favor, he prefers to live in that ignorance. A warm little hand touches his cheek and it makes him smile softly, turning his face ever slightly to kiss that outstretched wrist with the corner of his lips.

It is just so obvious. The way he looks at Jim, how is there any question.

\---

Sebastian is silent, and therefore so is Jim. What is there to say afterwards anyway? Jim is not poetic or sentimental in the same way Sebastian is, he is factual and blunt. But oh, does he appreciate that soft little kiss, perhaps more than he'll ever admit. Jim pulls his wrist away, and replaces it with his own mouth against Sebastian's. It's just as soft, though nothing between them is truly delicate. They are slowly wrecking each other, piece by piece. And perhaps their idea of kindness is what will eventually destroy the other.

He leans back and replaces his head against Sebastian's shoulder, closing his eyes and sighing and he decompresses and lets himself relax. Exhaustion is steadily seeping into his bones, and weary is so deep that even his brain feels sluggish. It's been a very eventful day, physically, mentally, and emotionally. But it's a good sort of drain.

It's not long before he drifts, his breathing leveling out and exhaling across Sebastian's collarbone. There's no place for existential conversations. They can wait till the morning, once he's had a chance to rest. And maybe not even then.

\---

The part of a soft kiss makes his breath melt out of him, slow and deep; a sigh to accompany a sigh, and that is possibly communication enough between them. Just air, warmth and something gentle.

Jim is drifting away, but Sebastian remains afloat on the surface. It's his turn to churn thoughts in his head like the tousle of clothes in a wash. Not quite a storm, not quite controlled.

Oxford. He isn't worried about it. It's practically a given that his letter will arrive and not an ounce of him cares any longer that his father's name might help it get there. The erasure of his accomplishments becomes his gain. The plan hasn't changed much, it's only adapted into space for two. Jim wants that future with him.

This little world they've begun to carve out of London's stone is madness. To think from beginning to present sounds like a fairytale, one of those foolish stories like Romeo and Juliet where everything happens in a span of days. They've even left a body count...

Maybe, just now, he sort of understands it. Two lives smashing together in a whirlwind, each missing something that pieces together in the destruction. That's appallingly romantic and he has to let his quiet laughter escape in nothing but huffs of air so he doesn't disturb Jim as he sleeps.

The thumb of his hand which curves around that warm little frame does not cease a slow and gentle stroke over bare skin. Not until he finally manages to shut off his thinking and dissolves away into sleep, watching Jim rest peacefully until his eyes simply can't stay open any longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * This was supposed to be in Gaelic but we didn't get it translated before it was time to post. It will probably be added in later. (Totally Baru's fault.)
> 
> If anyone has a contribution, don't be shy in contacting us!


	25. Come and Rest Your Bones With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fingers trace your every outline, paint a picture with my hands.
> 
> The story of Moriarty and Moran, from the very beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Important note!  
> **  
>  A reminder that we will be on a brief hiatus for the first two Saturdays of April and should resume updates on April 18th. This may be extended another week, depending on circumstances. This is due to Octofied and I being away at [221B con](http://www.221bcon.com/) between the 9th - 13th and I (Baru) will be traveling for a short time afterward, so our availability to write will be strained.  
> But we both promise we will not leave you hanging for too long!
> 
> And in case you are attending 221Bcon also, there will be a [Mormor gathering](http://bendydicky.tumblr.com/post/112441002513/okay-so-guys-ive-been-putting-this-off-because-i) on Saturday (teehee)! We will definitely be there! Don't be shy!
> 
> And as always, thank you to our darling [Hippano](http://hippano.tumblr.com/)!

He's done too much on this day not to have dreams. Dreams of Sebastian, of a flat together where they will stay, with stacks of Jim's books, and perhaps decent furniture, though he certainly isn't picky. Sebastian will be more so, he's already expressed his distaste for dorms and cramped spaces. But that's all Jim has known for years now. A pile of blankets and a lamp to read by has gotten him by, but Sebastian would want things like chairs and sofas, and no doubt insist they share a bed.

Jim has never shared his life with anyone, and now all of a sudden he is giving it away on a whim. There is no telling how long Sebastian will tolerate him. It’s a horrible plan should they part, but perhaps he will be allowed to return to on campus housing. A dorm is an infinitely better situation than what he currently lives in. He doesn't like relying on Sebastian, but perhaps he can take up odd jobs here and there to provide for himself.

He sleeps well into the midmorning; it's the dull ache in his abdomen that wakes him, and he realizes that it’s hunger. His body has become used to being fed breakfast and now the greedy thing demands it. He sighs and peels himself away from Sebastian, rubbing at his sleep crusted eyes and doing his best to fight against a yawn.

He's groggy, but that will fade in time as well. Settling down against the pillows, he looks out at the streams of light shining through the curtains and listens to Sebastian's breathing. It's not a loud, annoying snore, but Jim will have to shove at him every now and then if he starts sawing logs. That'd be a bit much for him to tolerate.

\---

Sebastian doesn't stay asleep much longer than Jim, after the mattress jostles softly with the covers and the press of lightweight warmth shifts off of him. At first it's just stirring, a dreaming sigh that turns his messy blond head on the pillow. Consciousness drags across the sands of sleep like an anchor being raised and when it finally sways free, his eyes open to the bleary world.

It's still dim in the room, the curtains pulled together and letting only peeks of light filter in from the center split where the maid who swept through here probably dusted them. It's dangerous for him to keep them that way, because he often rolls right over and goes back to sleep in the peaceful dark, but not this time. He finds Jim still close by and stares at him for a moment of unfocused recognition, taking in a deep breath.

And a moment later, he's rolling over onto his side and throwing his arm across whatever part of Jim is closest, groaning softly into the space between them. He mumbles what might be a "Good morning."

\---

Jim gives a long suffering sigh as Sebastian flops an arm over him. He has no delusions, it'll be perhaps an hour before Sebastian is in any semblance of awake. Jim isn't patient enough for that, and he's never been one to lounge around. With a huff as an answer, he shoves at Sebastian's arm and pushes it off of him, then slips the rest of the way off the bed, heading over towards the bathroom.

Jim doesn't linger, it's not something he can abide. The only time he lounges around in bed is when he's been beaten so mercilessly he cannot do anything other than attempt to rest. He heads for the shower and turns it on, eager to get as many hot showers in as he can before he's forced to go back to whore baths in the shared bathroom on the floor of his flatshare.

Standing under the hot water, he hums and closes his eyes, practically purring as the water hits his skin. It's a good way to wake up and it's quite possible in the future he may have more chances to wake up much the same. Even though they spoke of living together, Jim is too skeptical to believe that it’s happening until they are actually stepping past the threshold.

For now, distracting himself with a steamy shower sounds wonderful.

\---

There's a whine of protest that goes muffled against the bedclothes as Jim shoves his arm off and crawls away. His hand grapples at nothing but warmed sheets and he lifts his head to watch the other boy meander off without him towards the washroom. Which is a nice sight to wake up to, really because he's still not wearing a damn thing and Sebastian can appreciate that.

However, his stomach is next in line for complaints. He's just as hungry as Jim has woken up to be and after sighing in defeat, he drops his head on the mattress. It takes a few minutes, but he convinces himself out of the bed and rolls, rather ridiculously for that matter, arching and bending his too-long limbs to untangle himself from the covers and get up. With a heavy sigh and a good rub of his face, he's on his feet.

A few quick minutes are taken to pick things up off the floor and leave them in a disorganized pile on the cushioned cream bench at the end of his bed; all wrapped up together just like their lives have become. After putting on naught but sleeper pants, he leaves a note on the mountain of pillows for Jim; " _Stay here._ " And before he makes it out of the room, he goes back and scribbles on a _"Please."_

\---

Jim scrubs himself clean with more of Sebastian's soap and shampoo, taking his time to wallow in the luxury, rather than just the efficient quickness he is used to. A soak in the bath would be nicer, but he remembers the last bath he tried to take and that didn't end up relaxing at all. But he isn't visited by Sebastian during his shower, so it ends without incident and he shuts off the water, wrapping a fresh towel around his small body and heading over to the sink to brush his teeth and finish pampering himself.

He has no more clothes except that which he borrows from Sebastian, so it’s a robe he steals from the back of the bathroom door, pulling it on and swimming in the excess material. He rolls the sleeves up and steps out into the bedroom with an accompanying waft of steam. He finds the bed empty, save for a scrawled message on the crumpled duvet.

Reading it, he arches an eyebrow at the suggestion, but sits down on the mattress and holds the paper in his hand, curious. He expected Sebastian to still be curled in bed, grumping at the prospect of waking up. He hums curiously and looks around the room, waiting to see...well, what he’s waiting for.

\---

Downstairs, Sebastian makes his way to the kitchen and gives a groggy good morning to Aveline. He maneuvers around her and whatever she's doing to make something of a quick breakfast because he doesn't have the patience to wait for a full fry up. He also knows Jim will not accept anything made by the chef; unless it's stolen, of course. Sebastian is used to large meals and eating five times a day at the very least, which he does considerably less often when at home. Especially since Jim has arrived. He doesn't actually know the time, but he knows what he craves.

He makes something easy and familiar; a collection of usual choices for Chambers. A pile of toast made with different breads and thick jams to spread, slices of fruit in a bowl; peach and banana with blueberries this time. He lets Aveline help by frying up a single egg which he makes a sandwich out of with slices of ham and cheese on a muffin, cutting it in half just in case. A cup of coffee for himself and a glass of orange juice- but then he isn't certain Jim will drink orange juice, so he makes tea and pours a glass of water as well.

He piles all of it rather uncoordinatedly onto a large breakfast tray of silver that he carries back to the front stairwell in both arms. He's not exactly sure how he got the bedroom door open, but he manages to only spill a few drops of the juice in the process. He finds Jim waiting just as he's asked, wrapped up in his bathrobe and sitting up with as much patience as Jim probably has for being asked to do things. Nudging the door shut with his foot, tray balanced in the wide stretch of his arms, he nods his head towards the mountain of pillows at the backboard as he crosses the room.

"Go on then, sit back." He keeps a smile contained, barely.

\---

It's not long he has to wait it seems, because soon Sebastian returns with a tray of food balanced between his hands. Brows raise up towards his damp hair, especially when Seb instructs him to sit back, that usual grin fighting to break free of lips that force together in a barely there seal.

He shakes his head in amusement, and smooths out the blankets, crawling up to the pillow and leaning back against the wall they form against him for support. When Sebastian advances and lays the platter over Jim's lap, a momentary glance at the repast makes it obvious that it's been fixed by Sebastian's hand, considering the uncoordinated mess of things piled on the plates.

It's beyond ridiculous, to be not only brought breakfast in bed, but to have it made by his lover's hand, who really, is not a culinary genius. But he is trying so hard to impress Jim, how can the boy not break out into one of those rare, sunny smiles.

He pats the bed to invite Sebastian to sit beside him, because he knows it's for both of them, judging from the coffee. He slides the tray onto his lap as well, so they both become makeshift tables, and leans over to press a kiss to the edge of the older boy's jaw.

"I'll save my thanks ‘till after I'm sure your cooking hasn't poisoned me."

\---

After carefully setting the tray down over Jim's lap, he takes a moment to pull open the curtains nearest to their side of the room, letting light in to brighten the place up because there's no sense eating in the shade. He crawls up into the bed beside the freshly showered brunet, taking care not to jostle the mattress or Jim and therefore their breakfast as he settles. He's got a grin a mile wide because it's all a bit silly but it made the other boy smile and that's better than a bright sun in the morning.

"Ha ha. I happen to know my way around a toaster."

He laughs softly and it's not often Jim jokes lightheartedly about anything, so it only makes him grin more.

There's the plate of piled toast and small containers of different jams jumbled around a bowl of mingling fruits and a saucer sized plate of that muffin sandwich. One set of silverware between them but they really only need a knife and at least he didn't forget napkins. He takes up his coffee first and sips it, still warm but cool enough not to scald his tongue. Then he's after half of that sandwich for his morning dose of protein, however light, considering.

It isn't much, not really. Anyone with sense enough can throw together some toast and crudely chop up fruit but Jim seems pleased and Sebastian made that happen so he's damn pleased with himself.

\---

Jim doesn't dive right in to the meal. It isn't that he really does believe the blond has poisoned him, but rather he likes observing Sebastian perform simple tasks like this. Watching Sebastian simply live is a growing pastime of his. The older boy has his own meticulous way of doing things, a controlled sort of chaos. He looks like he barrels through his tasks, but there is a finesse there.

Sebastian plucks up the sandwich and begins to chew, and Jim is mesmerized for a moment before he takes up the fork and begins to spear the bits of fruit, alternating it with nibbles of toast. It reminds him of their dinner yesterday, pressed up against each other in the booth.

Because Sebastian seems so proud of it, Jim takes a few bites of the breakfast sandwich, but he leaves the bulk of it for Sebastian, knowing the boy will gladly eat it. Compared to the things he's stuck in his mouth, eating after Jim hardly seems that far of a stretch. He sips the juice, saving the tea for later; he doesn't mind drinking it cool.

It is by no means a flashy breakfast, but it is efficient, and it was made with Jim in mind. It's sweet, overly so, and he's almost tempted several times to shove at Sebastian's face as he feels his cheeks heat with embarrassment over the abundance of affection. But instead, he settles for nibbling at toast smeared with gooseberry jam.

\---

Sebastian has his methods alright, something you could call a mashup of proper etiquette and ravenous teenage boy. He doesn't talk much when he eats and maintains a rather efficient but tidy mannerism about taking large bites. There's almost a rhythm to his chewing, breaks now and again to drink down a mouthful of his chosen beverage; in this case, his coffee.

He doesn't notice Jim watching him at first; he's hungry and acts accordingly, seeming to favor the blackcurrant jam on his toast, but he dabbles a little of each kind on other pieces, always in a thin layer. He does slow down after the sandwich half has been eaten along with a couple pieces of the bread, stealing glances over at Jim as he sips the last of his coffee.

Sebastian leaves much of the toast to Jim and all but a single blueberry he pops into his mouth with a flick of his wrist while watching the other boy take another bite of fruit. When it seems Jim has abandoned the other part of the sandwich for him, he eats the rest of it because yes, really, he's had a lot more than traces of Jim's mouth on his tongue. There have been no complaints raised thus far and after taking a sip from the cold glass of water, he seems to have stopped eating in favor of watching Jim.

It's an eager kind of grin he gets when he does speak up again; one might imagine a dog wagging its tail hopefully at its favorite person.

"Edible, then? No poison?"

\---

Jim is licking jam from his fingers when Sebastian speaks up, and he looks up as his thumb is pulled free of his mouth with a little wet pop. Eyebrows arch upwards, and he witnesses that grin finally emerge, flashing rows of white teeth that almost seem too much for the older boy's mouth. And what can Jim do but smile back and continue the tease?

"It could be a slow acting poison. You better have your way with me while I'm still warm."

Jim laughs and pushes the tray off his and Sebastian's lap, nudging it over to the night stand on the opposite end table. He flicks the robe out with a dramatic flare as he replaces the tray with himself, climbing up onto Sebastian's lap. Small hands aren't quite sticky anymore as they cup Sebastian's jaw, holding his face steady and Jim leans forwards and presses the tip of their noses together.

"You made me breakfast in bed. You are ridiculous, Moran."

He tilts his head to the side and seals their lips together, just a little touch, though he knows Sebastian always wants more. He'd eat Jim alive, if Jim let him. He has to always keep him hungry for more.

Leaning back, he drops his hands to rest on the older boy's shoulders, fingers curling around the broad edge of bone.

"But I somehow like it."

\---

Sebastian laughs at the continued implication and maybe he could have said something terribly smart mouthed about Jim's eternally cold extremities but whatever he had in mind is brushed aside when Jim finds his way into the blond's lap. They aren't wearing terribly much between the two of them, so it's the awfully indulgent part of Sebastian that is thrilled to have the other boy in his personal space and it does nothing to tame his wildly amused expression.

He's really rather adorable, Jim is, when he wants to be. Maybe not on purpose now and again. A delight in the world is when Jim is comfortable enough to joke and tease. Sebastian's hands settle on soft thighs and of course he wants more of that kiss, but he takes every crumb of affection he gets and makes no secret about enjoying it. He seems wholly pleased with himself for Jim's approval, giving a nose scrunching nod.

"Good." And his head tilts to the side in a kind of shrugging confession. "Although I must admit, I had ulterior motives for keeping you in bed just a bit longer."

It's a sly sort of look he has for just a moment, but it doesn't last against his amused grin returning.

\---

Jim perks up at the mention of ulterior motives. Those sort of things easily pique his interest, and he shifts forwards again, humming and flicking his tongue out between his lips. Hands shift to circle around the back of Sebastian's neck, catching wisps of blond hair under his fingertips.

"And just what was your devious plan?"

Of course, he has an idea of what be on the boy's mind. And honestly, it's probably just delving back under the blankets and sleeping for another few hours. And somehow convincing Jim that laying around in bed is a good idea.

It might not be hard this morning, because Jim is still a bit sore and having a lie in doesn't sound like a bad idea as long as he has a few books to keep him company. He leans even closer, plastering them together. Here in this bed, Sebastian is entirely his, and he intends to make the older boy understand it.

Shifting his thighs under the touch of Seb's wandering hands, the robe coaxes up to reveal a pale thigh that's a much better landing strip for those rough fingers, softer than the cotton dressing gown.

"How are you going convince me? I hope you don't think fruit and some toast are the way to my heart. That is a dreadful amount of sugar, I hope you don't intend to be literally sweet."

\---

His thumbs touch smooth skin revealed by the shifting fabric and it only encourages those wandering hands to explore. First with a caress of thumbs dipping underneath the hem, but as he speaks, the rest of his hands go sliding up under the robe, palms warm on slender thighs inching higher and higher to his delectable hips.

"My devious plan was to make you comfortable with a nice breakfast and a warm fire and that stack of books over there from the library."

He gestures with a nod of his head towards the selected pile Jim had picked out when he first arrived. They haven't had much time for him to sit and read any of them, except the times Sebastian remained asleep longer than Jim, but he seems to have chosen the old journals first. They must be dreadfully boring by now. Childish ramblings.

And now the blond is leaning in even closer, humming softly against fair skin as his palms meld against small hips.

"I'll make you endless tea and put on the record player. We can listen to Mozart..." He pauses and discards the idea. "No. Overrated, everyone plays Mozart and Beethoven."

Another quiet hum of thought is left against skin, lingering by the soft spot under Jim's ear where lips brush as he speaks.

"Brahms. Or maybe Tchaikovsky. There's quite a collection." And yet he still hasn't quite pressed anything more than sound and breath against the Irish boy's skin, which is all willpower where his hands have none. They move up Jim's sides until they meet the barricade of tie that keeps fabric wrapped around his slim body and he can go no further without unlacing the knot. Thus, he descends back down to those thighs.

"Maybe I can convince you to play for me again... But it can wait until tomorrow. Today you should stay in here with me and imagine our little flat. We'll pretend the whole world has gone away."

\---

Sebastian's hands wander and that is no surprise. He never has been able to keep his hands to himself, and though Jim may not be as focused on touch as the blond, he can't exactly find fault in it. His hands are always warm and leave trails of goosebumps when they leave.

Jim tilts his head as the breath puffs against his skin, closing his eyes with a hum. Sebastian is doing a good job of convincing him, not that he needed much of a push. Books and tea, Tchaikovsky and a fire sound absolutely lovely. Better than wandering around through the city, as memorable as that was.

An eyebrow arches as Sebastian mentions Jim playing the piano for him again and he reopens his eyes, pulling back just slightly from the breath that bathes the side of his neck.

"You want me to play pretend?" He murmurs, hands slipping down from Sebastian's neck, dragging across his skin like the older boy drags his over Jim's. They come to fall upon the sash holding his robe closed. He slowly pulls free the knot, parting the material so that the dressing gown falls open to bare a line of pale skin down the center of his torso. It's a powerful thing, this hold he has over Sebastian. It's a different sort of sway than he's used to, and certainly one that works on a single subject alone. But with this single subject, he holds the world in his hands.

He reaches down and takes ahold of Sebastian's wrists, bringing his hands up to slide up over hips, and then his sides, smoothing over delicate ribs now that there is no longer any barrier.

"You want to play house? Who is supposed to be older here?" He chuckles and runs his hands up the length of Sebastian's strong arms, tracing up bicep and feeling the muscle flex under his fingers. "I'll play with you Sebastian."

\---

Even though it is his powerful hands which draw along skin in a mocked grip, it is certainly Jim who has the hold. Blue eyes drag down revealed skin, hands perfectly eager to be guided, to feel every shape the flesh makes under his fingertips. Yet the touch is unhurried and seems to have no goal other than appreciation.

Yes, silly maybe, but a thought that softens the remaining months of school and separation. Of course, there's another month long break in their near future and he wonders, in the crevice of his mind that can be spared, whether Jim will spend it all with him or if his greed for the other boy is really so out of hand. He could take and ask and even beg for every moment but he is still at the mercy of the other boy's whims.

As Jim's hands run up his arms, he tilts in as they get higher, wrapping limbs around the smaller body and pulling the Irish boy tighter against him as fingers of the good hand slide down a small spine.

Sebastian grins when it seems Jim agrees to his ideas of lounging in their solitude, tilting his head to leave a soft kiss on the boy's throat.

"I'm just selfish." Wanting all of his time lately. He lifts his head up enough to find his mouth on Jim's cheek instead. His better set of fingers slides higher to the chisel of shoulder blades underneath a curtain of robe covering far too much of the delightful skin. For all the calm he is right now, it could so easily turn to want.

"But it seems you've taken a bath already, so I suppose I'll be doing that alone."

\---

As Jim is so easily hauled up closer to Sebastian, now trapped in the solid embrace of an arm, he laughs and leans into the kiss pressed at his throat. He likes kisses there very much- they never fail to send shivers up his spine and make him feel like he's melting. And perhaps he does melt a bit, becoming a sort of liquid that plasters against the solid chest.

"Very selfish."

And really, the both of them are, but what benefits one, seems to benefit the other. So they are selfish for each other. Sebastian's mouth moves and Jim tilts his head just so, careful not to impede the path wet lips trail over his skin. As the fingers stretch up over his shoulder blades, he hums and rolls his shoulders, eager for the meager bit of massage he gets from the rough fingertips.

At Sebastian's lament, Jim pushes his hand up against his chest, bringing their lines of sight towards each other. He holds those blue eyes with his own for a moment, then licks his lips, a devious smile cutting the pink tiers into a near perfect V.

"If I were to get dirty again, that would constitute the need for another bath...wouldn't it?" He cocks his head to the side and slowly blinks his eyes, a brush of thick lashes against his cheeks, and when they open again, it's pure innocence that stares back at Sebastian, even if the boy it belongs to is already far past corrupted.

\---

He can practically taste the mischief that paints itself on Jim's face and _oh_ does he adore it. Little else in the world is so appealing as Jim's cleverness, all the more so when decorated with thick lashes and deceptive innocence. That grin splits his face as ever, accompanying a low growl of a chuckle in the pit of his throat as he leans in, tilting his tousled blond so they fit together just right.

"Insatiable."

He utters the word against Jim's mouth before nipping at his bottom lip but he speaks of both undoubtedly. Whether idle time, mind, taste or touch, it is never enough and Jim seems to take it all and still allow more.

Sebastian's good hand makes its way down the dip of spine to the curve of arse he squeezes unabashedly. How perfect it is that Jim should be dressed in next to naught, allowing an all too pleasing sound when he softly slaps it.

\---

Jim doesn't let him get away with just a peck this time. His whole body arches up into the meeting of their lips, and he kisses Sebastian back with a lazy passion that has his tongue flicking out to skim across the edge of Sebastian's before delving into the older boy's mouth.

It's no surprise when the hand delves down lower to grope his arse. He's never been shy about what he likes, and apparently it’s one of the few places Jim has any semblance of curvature. The slap isn't any surprise either, though he does jolt at the soft sting from the hand that smacks against him. Jim doesn't have enough body fat for the cheek to jiggle much beneath the abuse, but he does shiver and press in closer, giving a hum of protest that will most likely go ignored.

His hands leave Sebastian's chest however, shoulders shrugging to send the robe slipping from his body and pooling down past his thighs. Without that bit of fabric separating them, he is free to press up against the warm chest again, only breaking the kiss so he can breathe and wrap his arms up around Sebastian's neck once more, anchoring himself in place.

"Maybe you're....rubbing off on me."

\---

Sebastian is terribly pleased to oblige that demand for a real kiss and there's no battle to be fought in this one. Moments like these, he does not seem to be the only one caught up in an intense, simmering fire and one day they might consume one another in the smolder.

It absolutely does not take much more than the bat of inky lashes and coy suggestion for Jim to get Sebastian riled. Sluggish veins are awakened when his pulse quickens with thrill, his fingers pressing and kneading, drawing around to hips and dipping between thighs to caress silky skin. He can feel Jim shift and the material drape across their connected limbs and he won't have to simply imagine flesh in all its revealed glory for long.

Their kiss breaks but breath be damned, his mouth is on the move to chin and jaw, feeling words spoken before he travels to Jim's neck. It makes him chuckle again, vibration pressed to supple throat as arms secure the lithe body to him and his plastered wrist presses closer. Sebastian spreads his own legs a bit wider, shifting Jim on his tragically clothed lap, but bringing their hips into much better proximity. Lips and tongue skip from patch to patch of abused skin. They are both covered in marks, traces left behind on one another; soft bruises and trails of fingertips scratching a story into Sebastian's back every time their bodies meet like this, forever evolving as lines fade and new ones are written.

\---

Jim barely has his breath before Sebastian is moving down, smearing kisses down his chin and throat. He's just eaten breakfast, he can't be hungry. Yet he still tries to devour Jim, as if letting him go for a moment will cause him to disappear. It may have once been a valid concern, but they've begun to build a world together of their own making, and Jim wants a way out of the darkness more than anything.

He sighs and presses his weight down against Sebastian's thighs, pushing their groins together in a slow roll. Pale pink shifts against black silk, and he can already feel Sebastian stirring with interest beneath the fabric. Perhaps it’s ridiculous, the amount of sexual interaction between them. But they've been apart for weeks. And after this holiday, they'll be apart for even more. Glutting themselves for this week of paradise seems like an excellent idea, until they are forced to separate.

He raises his hands to skim through Sebastian's hair, gentle for now, just petting his smooth fingertips down across the older boy's scalp. His pale hair is so fine, it's like spun gossamer silk beneath his touch. He traces a path down to the base of his skull, feeling the notches at the beginning of his spine. The muscles on the side of his neck are thick and corded, strong like the rest covering his body. Jim always feels so small in his embrace, and yet, he is always in control. Except now. Now he simply wishes to give himself over to Sebastian.

\---

Even in Sebastian's licentious history, it has never been like this. Every day together has found their bodies tangled, in passion hot and affection warm. It's as if there are gaps inside of them, getting larger over their years and now they frantically try to fill the empty space with one another. Time would see them apart and they build bridges of memory to make it to their next meeting. There's a term people use for such budding passions, many in fact, but not one dares cross the mind or lips of either boy.

Hands that slide through his hair are welcome even tenderly, a soft sigh falling onto skin damp where he nips at a mark days old and fading, making it bloom once again. His free fingers press into pliant skin, pulling Jim's hips into their slow roll, encouraging the movement to continue on. Grazes of clothed friction and the delight of Jim's body pressed close already have him half aroused, but he dreadfully wants the sound of his voice to accompany it and so the blond seeks to make it surface.

While his mouth gravitates to the softer spots under the other boy's jawline, his hand snakes between the sliver of space barely left, fingers in soft black curls as he teases his touch at the base of smooth pink cock in unhurried exploration.

\---

Jim's fingers stutter for just a moment when Sebastian's mouth catches under his jaw and his hand skim over the base of Jim's cock. The older boy is certainly not shy about going right in for the kill, as he's proven many times before. Perhaps that is just what Sebastian is best at, what he craves. Pure, unbridled slaughter of his opponent, whether it be between the sheets or on the battlefield. Which really, is almost ridiculous when you consider the both of them are nearly still children.

But looks can be deceiving. Can't they?

Jim leans back far, bowing his spine and twisting out of reach from those questing fingertips. He tilts his head and it’s a pout that curves his lips, the fingers slipping out of Sebastian's hair to flick an impatient gesture to the silk the still swathes his hips.

"This is unfair."

Well, it's his voice, in a sense. Perhaps not the sort of tone that Sebastian desired. It's more of a curt whine, than a moan of pleasure. But really, it's nearly offensive that the blond has stayed clothed for so long.

\---

When Jim pulls away, Sebastian sighs what sounds wistfully, his head dropping for a moment as he recovers from his intense fixation being broken. But Jim isn't stopping so much as protesting his continued coverage and it makes Sebastian laugh airily as he picks up his head to look at him.

Well, he doesn't disagree but it's terribly difficult to remove even flimsy trousers in this position with another body on top of you and only one and a half hands available. Especially when you're more focused on the mentioned other body; but now they've paused long enough they may as well get rid of the damn things. There's always something in the way, isn't there? Honestly, why does he even stay clothed around Jim at this point. They could strip off everything from jacket to pants when they walked past the threshold of the bedroom and it would save them time and awkward pauses.

As much as he loathes the idea of letting Jim out of his range, he's under the impression it is to be entirely temporary. Softly, he pats Jim's bare thigh with his good hand and bids him "Up." to free his lap of extra weight so he can wrestle out of the sleepers and toss them wherever they end up; Jim's shed bathrobe right along with them. And now all he wants is for the Irish boy to return, beckoning him with a gesture of open arm but the stars know Jim’s got a mind of his own about what he wants.

\---

As Jim is ordered up, he climbs from Sebastian's lap, allowing him the space needed to pull off the sleepers and toss them away. With the deed done, he arches an eyebrow as Sebastian opens his arms and gestures for him to return. Jim is much like a cat. He doesn't come when he's wanted, he only brings himself close when he deems it appropriate. However, like a cat, Jim also loves being stroked and worshiped, so eventually he slides back down into Sebastian's lap, settling himself on strong thighs as if they were a regal throne rather than bits of flesh and bone.

As he wriggles forwards, Sebastian's massive cock is a solid weight prodding at his abdomen, already pulsing with heat from the mere suggestion of a bit of foreplay. It's appallingly easy to rile up the older boy, and Jim wonders if that's a feature that is unique to him, or if a breeze blowing the right way will give Moran a stiffy. Ah well, best not to mull over it now, because he has the attention of both the man and his accompanying cock, and he's not going to lose it anytime soon.

"Much better," He murmurs in a silky purr laced with strong Irish lilt. When he tilts his head to nip at Sebastian's bottom lip and pull the flesh into his mouth, it tastes like coffee and jam; rather nice. He hums his approval and opens his mouth to coax Sebastian's tongue out to touch his own, his usual rush abated for the time being as Sebastian's desire for a sluggish paced morning takes over his own wants.

\---

Sebastian is amused by look of consideration he gets from Jim but he still ends up right back into his lap, quite favorably to both of them. The blond hums an agreement as his hands find their way back to Jim's lithe form, starting at his sides and sliding palms down to his hips as if he has to retrace his steps upon interruption of his ritual and really, it's any excuse to worship just as Jim seems to enjoy.

The Irishman seizes control of their kiss and while Sebastian's hands take an appreciative stroll along his pale thighs, his tongue is plenty eager to meet the beck and call of Jim's mouth. Slow and steady seems unusual for them, but there's hardly a week to really go by in experience of each other, however filled those days have been. Still, it is a favorable slow down this morning, giving him time to savor each part of their combination; every curve and shape and chisel of smaller frame in his grasp, every breath that fills Jim's chest pressing close to his, the hint of sweet fruit mixed on tongues that dance rather than battle just now.

Cool air and warmer body are the sensations he feels against untrapped flesh, his cock pressing against Jim's softer body. As greedy hands pull him even closer by the grip of supple arse, their heat mingles and he can feel Jim's pressing right back; there's something salaciously divine about it. He takes a moment of temptation to forsake his hand in favor of coaxing hips to roll and groins to grind against each other in a taste of friction while their mouths are busy.

\---

Any press of Jim's body is met by a roam of those large hands over his form. It's odd, Sebastian is the one with the sculpted form, yet it is Jim's body that has become something to covet. Jim is skinny, too skinny in some places, pale to the point of being nearly sickly. But somehow Sebastian finds it attractive, and Jim's not going to belittle his decision when he more than benefits from it.

When Sebastian pulls them together and rocks their bodies in unison, Jim gives a gasping sigh against the mouth invading his. He in no way denies the pleasure the older boy brings him, he's devastatingly good at pulling Jim apart by now, even if he claims to find the boy as little more than a mystery. But he really isn't. Sebastian has managed to keep him happy longer than anyone else in his life, so he must be doing something right. Perhaps it's simply because he _sees_ Jim.

Small hands wrap around shoulders and hold him steady as he presses himself down and circles his hips. The friction is immediate, making him shudder and cry out, breaking the kiss. Having such a firm body beneath him gives him something solid to rut against, and their cocks slip against one another, bowing down towards Sebastian's stomach and trapping between the two boys, the pleasure only increasing as they writhe against one another.

\---

_Ah~_ the early sounds he so desires to hear; Sebastian inhales as if he could swallow it from the very air. His ill set of fingers keeps a pathetic hold on one hip while the other is curved around and gripping the most meaty part of Jim's thin body, kneading and gently spreading with the drag of his calloused digits. As if he can't resist, he gives it another soft _pap_ of palm to skin, using the small jolt of his form to grind theirs together another time.

Maybe it was true that he had the fit body and his taste usually laid with lean muscles or voluptuous curves but when you feel attraction beyond physical form, everything about them becomes alluring and desirable. Sebastian could say of his perverse history that it was only ever physical until Jim came along and he found himself intrigued first by mind. It was the very first time someone had shown such a devious cleverness, revealing itself to be absolute brilliance and with it, so too do Sebastian's affections grow. But to say you adored someone for their mind... Well, who would really believe such a thing? Especially of Sebastian Moran.

He denies any urge to hurry their slow waltz of friction, sighing heavily with the enjoyment of just pure sensation with no particular rush to reach the finish line. Sebastian abstains from any assault of mouth only to bring his hand up and slick his palm with a tongueful of saliva. It dives between their bodies and curls around their cocks, bringing them pressed gently together between wet digits and even he has to groan breathily against the press of his mouth finding whatever is immediately available of Jim. The very first long downward stroke of his hand pulls back the foreskin and lets the small pool of precome drip from the tips, catching it on the way back up a slow glide.

\---

Jim's eyes flick up to Sebastian as yet again he is spanked like an insolent child, and for whatever reason, the blond finds the noises he makes from the painful stings appealing. Perhaps both of them have a bit of sadist in them, though the masochism lays purely with his companion. In response, Jim reaches up and tugs Sebastian's hair, twining the locks around his finger to give him a solid grip. He hisses against Sebastian's cheek and arches up as the hand slips between them, slicked with spit and all too eager to begin pulling him apart.

As the tender foreskin is peeled back, a noise comes out of him something like a whimper, and when he realizes it, he clamps his lips shut and tries to swallow it. Sebastian is mouthing at his collar bone, sucking at the skin stretched tight over clavicle, and it drives Jim absolutely mad. Another wail breaks free and he rocks his hips up into the fist wrapped loosely around him, his patience beginning to wane.

But he still has hold of it at the moment, and his rhythm is smooth, a fluid circle of slim hips as he ruts forwards against all Sebastian has to offer. It's such a shame that other hand is useless, because it could be used for much better purposes. But alas, it only rests on his hip, and really he has no one else to blame for it but himself. Huffing a sigh against Sebastian's cheek, he pushes forwards and grabs a hold of the boy's earlobe between his lips, sucking at the soft flesh and cartilage before sinking his teeth into the tender skin.

\---

Jim's response of pulling at his hair is really only encouragement to do it again, but he holds off from irritating the other boy just now and settles for grinning around his mouth's fixation. The sounds his little star makes and tries so hard to suffocate are utterly delightful and he must be a fiend to chase after them, hoping to loosen all that control Jim tries to compose. It's pure greed that makes him want to please and pleasure Jim so much, to pull the strings that unravel him so in his arms. The way Jim melts against him during these moments is a joy he won't feel guilty about. It isn't really altruistic, is it? Because Jim is just as skilled in pressing every button no one else has ever dared to no matter how glaringly obvious it seems they are.

No surprise then, that the treatment of his ear has his breath stuttering and when Jim pins it between his teeth, Sebastian groans and gasps against his skin. But he can play that game as well, sucking at the flesh wrapped over protruding collar bone and nipping at it, teeth dragging until the soft sound of suction releases.

Going at this unhurried pace allows his attention to split more effectively and he pushes his hips down, trying to even their lengths so he can stroke a thumb across the tip of both, smearing more precome into a mixture and rubbing against the slit. Oh god does it make him breathe ragged, fingers tightening around their flushed cocks, trying to make up for how they both instinctually writhe.

\---

Jim's teeth are relentless things, grinding the captured flesh between them viciously until finally he releases from it with a gasp. Sebastian's thumb continues to rub down against the sensitive tip, over stimulating to spill out a near steady leak of precome, smearing his fingers in a mess of sticky liquid from his drooling cock. Jim is panting against Sebastian's ear now, fingers tugging and scraping at the towheaded scalp, breathy wails hissing from his lungs.

"'Bastian..." It spills from his lips in a disjointed sigh, tongue darting repeatedly over his lips and flicking against the older boy's cheeks as if he's trying to taste the name as he speaks it. Arms wind around shoulders to anchor his frail body to the more solid frame, and the lazy pace is starting to become lost as he bucks into the fist and slides their cocks together in a burst of steady friction that has him wailing out a stream of Gaelic nonsense, the last string of sanity snapping in glorious overriding pleasure.

His whole form shudders against Sebastian as he falls apart, pure lust shining in his eyes, blacker than ink, swallowing the light of the room in their endless shadow. And it is so, so good to give over the control to someone else.

\---

Teeth grinding at his ear and fingers dragging across scalp have him hissing softly through teeth and exhaling a quiet moan against the wet, abused skin of Jim's throat. He gasps mildly as the pinch is released, a throbbing radiating in the thin tissue well after, while breath washes against it in hurried bursts of warmth.

The steady unwinding of his little Irish star has Sebastian's focus, his voice right there against him to hear so very clearly. Fingers squeeze, fist dragging over the head of their cocks until the thrusting movement of Jim's lovely hips throws apart their evened lengths. They rut together in tight friction and as the pace begins to fall apart, he meets it with his own thinning impatience for the building tightness in his loins. Everything quickly devolves from slow and gentle to hurried and relentless, that wonderful Irish babble making him moan a sigh as it digs down into his veins like vibrations hitting the bone.

They're so slick with precome and spit it makes it too easy to pump his hand over their cocks faster in opposition of their hips’ movements until Sebastian starts to tense from thighs to spine to the long, rough fingers of his hands; the useless one at Jim's side by now digging into the pliant skin.

When Sebastian comes, it's a teeth clenched moan against the flesh he has claimed with bruising stamps, spilling over the tip of their cocks and his fingers as they stroke upward, urging the pulsations. His head tilts, mashing mouth against Jim's neck, his plastered arm quickly diving around the slender body to grab it up and press them together before either boy can melt apart on the sheets.

\---

Jim's thighs burn and shake with the tension held within them. He is usually the first to give into the pressure and crash into his orgasm from the assault of Sebastian's over eager touches, but this time it's the blond who is spurting warmth against his stomach, moaning into Jim's neck and scrambling to hold him in a tight grip so he can't dissolve away.

Sebastian is so possessive, desperate to keep ahold of Jim, and that should be absolutely intolerable, but for some reason Jim thrives to experience it. He plasters himself up against Sebastian and rides the other boy's orgasm, feeling every shudder and twitch like he's hungry for them. It's that which pushes him over the edge, and with a gasping whimper, he comes undone completely, spilling into Sebastian's clutched hand.

His whole body becomes liquid and he curls in on Sebastian, breathing heavy as sweat dots his forehead. With a hum, his hands slip down and grasp his shoulders, trying to hold on to him. He pushes out a sigh that bathes back across his face as he presses to the solid chest. He has nowhere to go but collapsing into the strong arms, and it’s as good a place as any to recover.

\---

The pressure of his fingers wrapped around their cocks is persistent, gliding over smooth flesh flushed with excited heat until Jim comes, mixing them together in an utter mess. Only when he feels the pulse ease into sensitive twitches does he release them, sighing heavily with content as the Irish boy puddles against his body, warm and yet still cooler than Sebastian's natural heat.

That arm too, curls around Jim, careless of the sticky residue on his fingers because it all serves the point, doesn't it? Now Jim will just have to join him in washing clean again and even without the intent of another round, it's an enjoyably indulgent idea to add on to their terribly indulgent day planned. For now however, they both appear to be spent, even with the lazy energy of their morning; or maybe because of it.

Sebastian loosens his hold just enough that he can recapture it more securely on that limp figure, pulling Jim up flush against his chest as he leans back until his shoulders meet the headboard above the collective of pillows supporting his spine. His head thumps back against the wood, chest heaving and an energy sapped smile on his face.

"I think you're going to wear me out."

In only the absolute best of ways.

\---

Jim is lazy and exhausted enough to let Sebastian do the work of manhandling him into place. When his oversensitive cock rubs against the older boy's groin, he murmurs a protest, but it's muffled into Sebastian's neck and he's pulled up higher. His fingers twitch like dying spiders, then settle in place against the blond's shoulder blades. As he's lain more horizontal when Sebastian rests back, he sighs and wriggles a bit to find the most comfortable spot to stretch out.

He might as well be curling like a cat in a sunny spot, sucking up the warmth Sebastian provides. He even grins guiltily as Sebastian comments on Jim wearing him out, and turns his head to look at the older boy, nuzzling at the edge of his jaw, no longer smooth, the stubble already making its way over his chin and cheek.

"Haven't you figured it out yet? I'm an incubus, come to suck you dry. Don't worry, it's the best death you can ever suffer, I'll make sure of it."

He giggles and sinks back down to rest his cheek against the notch of Sebastian's neck and shoulder. It's an indent made just for him, and he closes his eyes to bask in the afterglow, happy and sated. "You can't start complaining yet...it hasn't even been a full week."

\---

It has to be the endorphins; the vibrant chemicals high in his veins, rushing about, trying to put blood back into his starved brain, which makes him feel this sudden swell in his chest.

Jim has made a joke. A real, honestly silly joke with no particular underline of dryness or bite to it. Just an adorable threat of sweet death and for some reason, Sebastian can hardly stand it. Yes, it has to be the release of unbridled- and there is no other word for it- _giddiness_ that surges through him suddenly.

He's laughing, first just a airy, nearly silent chuckle because he's still trying to catch his heart and lungs up to steady pace. But then it becomes less contained, rattling the stable platform that is his chest where Jim is resting. His arms tighten up on Jim and he cranes forward, tilting entirely fussed blond to plant a ridiculous kiss on the first part of Jim he gets to. Then he's leaning inward, enough it could make his currently spent body shake gently with the strain as he all but assaults Jim in a hail of adoring, noisy little kisses on his head and face and shoulder; every part he can feasibly reach, against any and all protest. He rolls them both to the side, tumbles really, pinning Jim in a grasp of arms and weight. Still he laughs, breathless and muffled against skin, and it's completely, thoroughly ridiculous, the whole bit of it. But there are things he can't say, only do.

\---

Jim has already proven he isn't particularly fond of Sebastian bursting into laughter after bouts of sex. But he's not quite as prone to violence and he certainly isn't breaking anything because he already misses that hand. However, the laughter doesn't last longer than Jim scrunching his nose up, because soon he's assaulted in a rain of kisses as he's held captive and rolled. He squawks and flails a bit under the frantic flurry of lips and nose and nuzzling cheeks, pushing uselessly at Sebastian. A whine of protest escapes him and he tries to wriggle away to no avail because the kisses keep coming.

He has no idea what he's done to deserve this sort of punishment, but he pouts and suffers through it, giving up fighting the flow of affection and just clings with a huff, riding it out until hopefully Sebastian goes lightheaded from lack of proper breathing.

He might end up trapped under a solid slab of muscle, but it's better than being smeared with kisses for hours on end.

\---

Jim's protest doesn't really do him any favors for getting Sebastian to stop but when the other boy gives up, the blond relents. With his mouth smushed against Jim's shoulder, he huffs another small laugh before dragging air back into his lungs and picking up his head to look at the disgruntled Irishman. His grin must be a mile wide but he can't help it, nor does he attempt to restrain it. He simply stares at Jim like he's the only good thing about the world.

"Believe me, I'm not complaining."

Just one more, nice and calm and soft on Jim's cheek.

He must be pushing his luck this morning, because he rolls over flat on to his back, head on the pillows and drags Jim right along, settling still again with an armful he is content to keep if Jim so allows after that outburst.

\---

Jim stares back, taking in the sight of the dopey, admiring grin. And maybe that's why he grumbles, but otherwise lets Sebastian tug him back into a clinging embrace. He may huff and fuss, but it touches something deep in his chest when the older boy so blatantly shows his affection like this. He's gotten what most people want, and yet, he still wants more. He wants all of Jim, and how can Jim find fault in that? Not today, not when he's been promised to be spoiled.

"See that you don't."

He murmurs and burrows back into that indent made just for him, curling in against Sebastian's side and siphoning his warmth yet again. He can't remember a time he just lazed around in bed when he wasn't sick or recovering. It's rather nice to experience it when he's blissed out and wrapped in someone's arm.

Sighing against Sebastian's neck, he closes his eyes and settles into a boneless lounge among lover and linens. He'll give Sebastian a bit longer before he sasses him about that promised fire.

\---

"Never." Sebastian sighs the word and he dangerously lets his eyes close because he _is_ feeling rather spent just now, unlike his usual alert afterwards. The combined efforts of many things about the past few days, surely.

"It's nice... Like I've finally burnt up all the excess."

Drinking coffee in the morning probably doesn't help the feeling of caffeinated veins but even when he doesn't, Sebastian is usually full of pent up energy that so rarely gets used up before it's recharged back to full. There's too much bound up inside that lean body; He's a powerhouse not limited to proportions of physical strength.

And just now, Sebastian is relaxed, fully. Nearly to the same liquid state that makes Jim mold up against him, except Moran is mostly made of muscle atop the bone and that makes him more like a rock. This is amongst the many things Jim does; ease his restlessness, use up his abundance of energy, thrill him, relax him... Make him happy.

"I think it's time for a kip." And it sounds like a joke by his tone but really, it probably isn't. Mildly, he continues to grin to himself.

\---

Jim arches an eyebrow at Sebastian's comment about him finally being out of energy. The boy has just woken up, had breakfast and leaned back to let Jim writhe on his lap till he came. He didn't exactly run a marathon. Jim wriggles up from the spot on Sebastian's neck so he could speak.

"Oh? Run out of energy, old man?"

He smirks and nuzzles into the blond's ear, where he'd assaulted it with his teeth earlier. It still bears the red imprint of his bite, and seeing his mark so blatantly blazed on Sebastian's skin was immensely satisfying. A hand comes up and rests atop the older boy's chest, settling at the center so he could feel the heartbeat beneath his fingers.

"You are dreadfully lazy. But I suppose a little kip doesn't sound too horrid." He smiles into Sebastian's neck and snuggles down against Sebastian's side, throwing his leg over Sebastian's and wriggling his foot down between his calves, a bit like a clinging octopus.

\---

The blond huffs at Jim's teasing, grin stretching but his eyes remaining shut as he lays there, feeling the smaller body shift against him.

Sebastian laughs soundlessly because it is both true and not, he could be dreadfully lazy when the mood struck him. Right now he certainly is, maybe exasperatingly so, but he has absolutely no qualms about it either; especially when Jim snuggles up against him a little more thoroughly. So it seems the rest of their plans have been put on hold a little longer. Sebastian takes a deep breath, one that swells his chest until he exhales his great content.

"Just a small one. Then that bath..."

He stretches the arm furthest from Jim, dropping it above his head in between a pale gold mess and the wooden headboard. "Music and tea."

His voice is already reducing down to mumbling. "Should've set that fire..."

Maybe he's trying to convince himself but he already sounds awfully unmotivated to get up again. And Jim did just snuggle up nice and proper, practically clinging by tangle of their limbs. The afternoon might warm up outside but the cold will stick inside and get worse by evening again.

Mmmm. Maybe just the duvet for now. He moves his arm again, feeling around to grab a handful of it and haul it up across them.

\---

Jim listens to Sebastian's words grow progressively sleepier, sparsed with sighs and mumbles as he becomes drowsy from their interlude. It's a bit satisfying, that someone as slight as he has managed to wear down someone as fit as Sebastian. When the duvet is tugged up around them, Jim is effectively trapped, but he has no complaints. It may have become a temporary prison, but it's warm and comfortable, so he doesn't really mind being incarcerated.

He moves his head down a bit to rest on Sebastian's shoulder and it appears a kip is indeed ordered for himself as well. He grabbed no books and he can't exactly pick Sebastian's mind when the blond is asleep.

He listens to Sebastian's breathing, his heartbeat, and it’s enough of a lullaby to convince Jim to relax and drift off.


	26. Bathwater

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I can't help it. 
> 
> The story of Moriarty and Moran, from the very beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Glory and Gore is on hiatus until further notice.**   
>  I really apologize about this, but some matters have come up.
> 
>  **To those we met at 221b Con:** It was wonderful to meet you and thank you so much for your kind words and support!  <3 If we missed you, I am so sorry, I hope we get another chance! We hope you had a great time!
> 
> Thanks goes out to [Hippano](http://hippano.tumblr.com/) for all of her continued support and gorgeous work. She is our special little bun and we love her so much! <3

It's one of Sebastian's talents to fall asleep rather easily, but it has the unfortunate effect of meaning he misses things. The fact of it is, when he falls asleep, Jim is awake and when he wakes, Jim is already up. He can tell by that alone Jim must not get very much sleep, even though he has no idea just how severe that is. The idea Jim is resting more easily now would be a nice one, if he knew of it. But of course, he's fallen asleep too quickly yet again.  
  
And it's considerably shorter lived; it must have only been thirty minutes since he'd dozed off. He doesn't hear the muffled chime of the phones yet again, echoing off at least four different receivers throughout the house, but he certainly does hear the knock that raps on the door a few minutes later.  
  
Sebastian's eyes snap open and he takes in a deep breath, but he doesn't move. He's not really certain he heard anything out loud but if he has, he wills it to simply go away. The unfortunate reality is that they don’t, given by the repeated tap on the door a minute later. Of course it's Nigel. No wild guess there. Blond tilts on the pillow to look at Jim, gauging him.  
\---  
Jim was comfortably asleep, tucked in close against Sebastian and sighing softly with each exhale. He's as peaceful as he's ever been, despite how odd it is for him to just fall back asleep in the middle of the day. But the harsh array of clipped knocks to the solid wood put an end to that. His eyes slowly flutter open and take a moment to focus. The warmth of Sebastian's body is the best thing to wake up to, even if the continued rapping at the door is not.  
  
He burrows himself closer to Sebastian and gives a disgruntled huff at the interruption. It isn't his place to bid whoever is on the other side of that door away, but he doesn't want Sebastian bellowing either, not when he's still a bit groggy.  
  
The hand at Sebastian's chest clutches uselessly and he hums out a whine that translates to 'make that noise go away', if Sebastian is at all versed in various Jim type noises yet. That knock is throwing off his promise of a lazy day. It wasn't at all on the schedule, unless they've hauled the piano upstairs.  
\---  
The two of them would have been in full agreement if they could read one another's thoughts; the noises needed to end and their day to be uninterrupted. Sebastian isn't much more awake than the half hearted stirring against his chest that Jim does, but he can feel frustration sinking in as an automated response. Sebastian doesn't have the energy to yell at the door, neither does he want to startle Jim. The Irish boy has wrapped himself around his larger frame thoroughly, making getting up a challenge and quite frankly, he wants to do that even less.  
  
So he doesn't yell, but he raises his voice enough that his uninterested tone could be heard at the door in the otherwise quiet house.  
  
"Go away."  
  
Two words, very simple, straight to the point. There should be nothing left to question, especially when Nigel already knows Sebastian well enough to gauge his temperament and pick his battles. But apparently, the old man is particularly persistent this afternoon about whatever it is he wants and the Moran heir can venture a less than wild guess about that as well.  


"Sebastian, I wouldn't press this if it were not important."  
  
It's a bit like grating the actual nerves in your body with a rough sheet of rock, the way it irritates him. There's a slow, deep breath taken in his effort to shove it back down. He won't let them ruin their plans; not yesterday, not today, not for the rest of the week.  
  
He hasn't noticed his jaw already clenching but he doesn't answer and Nigel picks up on the idea he's being ignored.  
  
"Augustus _will_ come home sooner if you do not speak with him."  
  
Ah yes, there it is; the impending threat. Nigel stops being subtle about it and goes straight for the point. Maybe he should have recognized how the housemaster makes an effort to give him a choice; deal with him on the phone or deal with him in person. But it's hard to see Nigel doing him any favors as the lapdog and not simply trying to incite him into complying.  
  
"Not another word."  
  
That's all he says but it comes out as a cross order. There's silence on the other side of the door and then he can vaguely hear the steps on carpet as he leaves them.  
\---  
As Sebastian growls his threats in reply to the steward's wishes, Jim is wide awake now. He's endlessly curious, though it's a morbid sort of fascination. There is no good that will ever come from it, but Jim wishes to meet this phantom father, to behold him with his own eyes and ears and see just how dreadful he is. Jim has no belief in a loving connection between parent and child. He's never experienced it himself and never will in the future. It does not surprise him that Sebastian's own relationship is strained with his father.  
  
Jim moves over, practically, no, _actually_ climbs on top of the older boy and lays over him like a blanket. He tucks his head up under Sebastian's chin and mouths at the curve of his throat till the tension seeps back out of his body and he's relaxed once again.  
  
He sits back up, and the mess on his lower stomach has dried to a flaking mess. It pulls at his skin and he scratches at it with the edge of a nail and a frown. "Bath."  
  
It's a demand as usual. Sleep is no longer an option.  
\---  
Being woken up unceremoniously with something so irritating makes the renewed tension stubborn, but Jim is right there as if he can read Sebastian through the strain and seeks to ease it. That doesn't happen right away. The older boy doesn't so much as lift a hand when Jim moves on top of him, but when that mouth finds his throat, he shifts and fingers of the healthy limb trace the outline of his body in slow descent from ribs to hips.  
  
He sighs again, slow and heavy, trying to let the other boy pull him back into their private space. It works mostly, but there's a lingering knowledge of the unavoidable because he'd much rather suffer Augustus across a line he can cut than have him anywhere near Jim should Nigel’s threat ring true. The very idea of Augustus eyeing him the way he does, gauging his worth, nose turned up as if he knew a bloody thing at all.  
  
He could brood the rest of the day but it's no good and Jim won't allow it. Sebastian turns his head to look at him as he sits up and a demand is made for their day to continue, so a fistful of duvet pulls the covers off of them.  
  
Bath it is. The blond sits up as well and curls his arms around Jim's small waist before moving to slide them both off the nearest edge of the bed. And he doesn't actually have permission but he has been given a demand, so instead of setting Jim down on the floor at the edge of the mattress, he secures his little star with the good hand and stands right up to carry him into the washroom.  
\---  
Jim hums with a pleased smile as Sebastian moves to obey, and he certainly is testing his limits when he scoops Jim up to be carried. But at the moment, he doesn't feel like violence and hatred, so instead he just reaches up to wrap his arms around Sebastian's neck to steady himself. Though, he gives the boy a warning glance that he just barely tolerates this. But it really is more for Sebastian's benefit, because he is upset, and for some reason he likes to carry Jim as if he is some tiny, delicate thing.  
  
And maybe he is, but that's beyond everything else. He is Jim first, and now he supposes he's become a boyfriend who tolerates being toted about. He leans down and nips at the line of Sebastian's jaw, bidding him further from his thoughts. He has an armful of a rather nude Jim, and the Irish boy won't tolerate being ignored in favor of a mope.  
  
Arching up higher, he refuses to be set down when Sebastian does step into the washroom. He really doesn't care if it’s a shower or bath, especially since both of them know it’s just another excuse for Sebastian to put his hands all over Jim. And if that doesn't manage to cheer him up, then Jim certainly has his work cut out for him this afternoon.  
\---  
He was going to set him down but it appears other plans have been decided in that short trek from the bed. It makes him laugh a little, turning his head to nuzzle cheek, nose and mouth against pale skin for a moment and it all does pretty well to extract his thoughts from brooding space.  
  
Instead of setting him down, he uses his cast arm to manipulate the dials of the bath, turning them with his fingers at an approximate guess of warmth. While it begins to fill, he steps to the cupboard where he fetches something that smells like brown sugar and vanilla. He wedges open the glass on the lip of the countertop, pouring salts at the base of the cascading water where it begins to dissolve and foam up at the surface. It softens the water, filling the room with a delicate scent, bubbles softly popping as they foam up. It must be the most indulgent thing he ever does when he's alone but baths are a thing he only ever gets to enjoy here in this room and indulgence is certainly one of his vices.  
  
Thankfully, neither of them have a scrap of clothing on either, so all he does is step into the rising bath with Jim in his arms and very carefully lowers them down, kneeling in the basin and then flopping back against the edge where his shoulders hit the cold porcelain and make him huff. Gently, he rests that plastered arm off the side, out of danger's way.  
\---  
Jim wriggles as Sebastian nuzzles against him, toes curling and brushing against the backs of the blond's thighs. Baths and showers aren't a luxury he gets often, having cold water that comes from a single sink in his flat. He's had many of them here in Sebastian's home, and has no problem taking advantage of a building with working heat.  
  
However, when Sebastian opens the cabinet and pours some sort of scented salt crystals into the basin, Jim twists away with a questioning stare as the water begins to foam up into an array of bubbles, blooming a sugary scent into the bathroom. He looks up at Sebastian in confusion, but the older boy is already lowering them into the bath. Jim tenses for a moment as they slide through the thick blanket of bubbles growing around them, gasping in surprise when they merely stick to his skin and part as easy as air.  
  
He's seated again on Sebastian's lap, but his attention is immediately focused on the bubbles filling the bath, lifting his arms to inspect the swatches of foam that stick to his pale skin. He twists around to see the bubbles climbing up his back, tickling just the faintest bit. With a quiet giggle, he scoops his hands through the bubbles, collecting them in his palms and lifting them to his face to blow away, sending them floating into the air around them to lazily drift and pop with bursts of scent once they come in contact with something.  
  
It's odd, and nothing he's experienced before, but he decides quickly that he likes it.  
\---  
Sebastian's interest in the salts is far less about the bubbles than the softening water that works to ease tension in his body. A relic of the past... Something he gratuitously uses when bruises flood his skin in patches. It was his mother's favored and so of course, it bubbles graciously. The scent may not be his choosing but it's preferable to overpowering florals, so it's always this one he comes back to.  
  
And it hadn't occurred to him that Jim might be unfamiliar with such a thing until he watches the other boy's curiosity unfold. Quickly, it seems to become amusement and Sebastian can't help but chuckle softly watching him toy with the thick foam.  
  
It's a double sided blade. On one hand, it makes it so easy to forget what irritated him minutes ago and yet on the other side, this sight only brings out fierce protection over Jim. It goes beyond possessiveness and personal greed; he cannot stand the idea of insult. Neither of Jim's brilliance or his seemingly misplaced innocence. This is a secret Jim keeps hidden away from everyone but Sebastian and it makes the older boy all the more vicious a beast wanting to protect him. Maybe it's a futile fight, but he'll gnash his teeth and bare his claws at anyone trying to lower Jim beneath them. Especially Sir Augustus and his lapdog.  
  
"Mein kleines Sternchen." And it's adoring if not weighted by his thoughts. He picks up his free hand from underneath the water and reaches up a handful of bubbles to pat them onto Jim's nose, grinning softly as some of them cling to his skin.  
  
"Do you approve?"  
\---  
As Sebastian smears the bubbles over his nose, Jim goes cross eyed for a moment to watch the white foam cling to his face in some mockery of facial hair. He looks back at Sebastian with a wry smile, then leans forwards to kiss him, coating him in the bubbles. It's a little soapy tasting, and he makes a face as he pulls away. But it hardly ruins the mood so he scoops up another handful of bubbles to paint them up the length of Sebastian's chest.  
  
"I suppose so. You've done good, Moran."  
  
His fingers work at the thick muscles below Sebastian's collar bones, massaging them lightly to release more tension from the tightly woven fibers beneath the skin. The soapy bubbles make it slippery, and his touch glides over the skin, facilitating the movement.  
  
He leans back in and nuzzles against Sebastian's jawline, smearing more of the bubbles up the side of the blond's neck.  
  
"Keep impressing me."  
\---  
Sebastian huffs a soft laugh at the way Jim likes to refer to him as Moran. He isn’t the only one, of course, but it was Jim alone who told him: You are not Augustus. The meaning has changed.  
  
Now he's being coated in bubbles from face to chest and the water continues to creep upward on their bodies slowly, filling the large basin that he took up most of. Fingers slide on skin and they are tiny, soft things that try to knead the tougher flesh and thick muscle. Now he's very certain Jim is trying to sort out the kinks left behind and that is impossibly endearing.  
  
He smiles to himself as Jim leans in again, bubbles crackling quietly between them, popping ever so softly as they circle Jim's body like they're attracted to it as much as he is. Sebastian's unhindered hand slips across fair skin, too wet to grip at his hip so the arm circles his waist loosely, sounding a low hum.  
  
"What happens when you grow tired of my impression?"  
\---  
Jim does get bored. Rather easily. That's when Jim leaves and finds something else to bide his time. However, he does not find Sebastian boring. There is too much there that he finds fascinating. And he's been promised so much, he'd be an idiot to wander away. Jim is brilliant...he doesn't think of himself as an idiot. But surely, he has done idiotic things from time to time.  
  
He lays his cheek against the curve of Sebastian's shoulders, and the water laps around them, forming foamy islands that obscure the lines of their bodies. "Don't let it happen and you'll never have to find out."  
  
Perhaps it’s harsh. But it's truthful. Jim has never focused so much energy on any one person. He'd assumed for a long while that he simply didn't have an interest in people in general, finding the lot of them too disappointing. But Sebastian has yet to disappoint, and gives Jim promises of a better future. So he'll stay, as long as that continues.  
\---  
Maybe it would sound harsh to someone else, but it's blunt just like most of the things Jim says and Sebastian finds it far more appealing than sugary layers and lies. Perhaps it should have worried him too, but it has the opposite effect; it sets him as determined.  
  
"I don't intend to."  
  
There are bubbles between them and circling every part that breaks the water's surface; by now it's risen high on their mismatched bodies, with the water level redistributed by their tangled limbs and combined weight. He leans forward, splaying his good palm against Jim's shoulder blades to support him as they press tightly together and the smaller body is tilted back in his movement. He fondles the faucet handles, cutting off the water one temperature at a time. While he's at it, he doesn't miss the opportunity to press his mouth against skin and leave a kiss before he eases back again, the room falling quiet to the sound of bubbles snapping.  
\---  
Jim sighs into the relaxation Sebastian offers him, he's affectionate without being too handsy, and not that Jim really minds that, but he likes this lazy lull they've found with each other today. It's rare for people to be comfortable around each other in pure silence, but they've managed it. And though they are quiet, it certainly isn't boring.  
  
"Tell me more about our flat."  
  
He says softly, chin resting against Sebastian's clavicle. Jim may be the one in charge, but Sebastian seems very vocal about his choice of living arrangements. Jim doesn't care much as long as he is comfortable and warm with a roof over his head. He doesn't have the heart to make solid, concrete decisions of his own, when a single word from Augustus could dash those hopes to pieces.  
  
But he likes this dream they've created, perhaps because it is so close to being a reality.  
\---  
The bubbles seem to have been forgotten for now but the water still works its magic, aided by one small Irishman who rests against him. Sebastian reaches to lay his hand on the lip of the tub, much like its battered counterpart on the opposite side. He tilts his head back a bit and takes a deep breath of thought, signaled by a small noise.  
  
"Since it needs to be small, I won't be squeezing a piano inside of it."  
  
He muses over the thought while considering the most important things he wanted in a space that was his, but sitting at the top of the list was really just Jim. Jim, interrupting every attempt of thought he had. His dorm at Eton was small and impersonal, just a bedroom with no real decor. He'd lived most of his memorable life here in the house, knowing little else of flats or even considerably smaller homes beyond what he'd seen in movies and telly he rarely watches. His memory before age ten is something of a blur, pictures of events and catalogued occurrences, but he can't recall the places they stayed beyond some of the fantastic hotels and grand palaces they visited. He remembers that when he first arrived in London to stay for good, things felt foreign to him. Eventually, England became normal, whether it was beaten into him or not. So, what could he say of expectations and desires?  
  
"It will have to have a tub." This is the next immediate thing he thinks of, considering they are sitting in one.  
  
"And a balcony... Or just a fire escape, some place to step outside. Maybe we'll be close enough to a park."  
  
To read, smoke or just breathe. London's air wasn't exactly favorable but it was sometimes better than being trapped inside all day.  
  
"We'll get a big bed and a nice couch. I don't care for watching telly but if you get angry with me, you can send me to sleep on it." An aged joke, surely, but he grins and laughs lightly, skimming his eyes across the ceiling. He tries to imagine a little place but it's all glorified pictures of things he's seen before and somehow, he wants more than that. Something theirs.  
  
"I don't know a bloody thing about colors or decorations. I hope you can help with that or it will look ridiculous." Jim certainly seemed to coordinate his suit with ease.  
\---  
Jim chuckled softly at the mention of a piano. Surely that is a luxury they will have to do without. Though he is sure if he insisted, Sebastian would find a way to lug it up stairs and wedge it into a flat.  
  
The mention of a tub is glorious, Jim does so love their time in the warm water basins, soaking, a wonderful excuse to lay naked on top of each other. Sebastian is immensely comfortable and he has no problem spending his time lounging on a handsome bed of muscle. The balcony he knows is more for Sebastian's horrid smoking habit, but that's fine. He'll allowed simple vices, and a balcony means he won't be smoking inside.  
  
He arches an eyebrow at the mention of sending Sebastian to sleep on the sofa, but Jim's denied him his own bed before, and there is no way to be sure he won't do it again. Sebastian is damning himself, because he's basically already admitting he's giving in to any argument by agreeing to just sleep in the living room. Jim smirks and props his chin on his hands, basking in the obvious way he has this boy wrapped around his fingers.  
  
"I've never decorated anything before. But I'd like to put stars on the ceiling...if I could. The things I get are...from thrift stores...handouts." He frowns slightly, disliking admitting to the way he lives, but surely Sebastian already has an idea of it.  
\---  
Sebastian picks up his head again to look at Jim, best he can in close proximity as they are.  
  
Stars on the ceiling is his very first request. Yes, that sounds very much like something Jim would enjoy. Sebastian can only imagine he'd be meticulous enough to map it out proper, as well. It makes him smile to think about the small Irish boy spending hours putting little stars up, mimicking the sky, possibly by memory alone. They'll need a ladder, for surely Sebastian can't hold him up in the air the whole time.  
  
Mentally, he checks these things on the growing list of necessities.  
  
He does have an idea that Jim lives with... very little. There are questions that bubble up in his mind; does he have siblings? And what about the ever illusive parents? They seem missing from every equation and it's not as if it's difficult for Sebastian to understand absentee family. Or even dead ones. But there's a sharp sort of hatred in his chest and he has no plausible cause for it beyond the idea that Jim despises his name and that must come from somewhere. How can anyone not put forward everything they had for Jim? For his brilliant mind and small body, who can deny him the world? Maybe he will never know. Jim only tosses scraps of truth in his direction about what his life is like away from Sebastian and now they've begun to build something together that excludes both of their pasts.  
  
Sebastian is narcissistic enough to honestly believe that Jim is better off because no one can or will ever protect Jim the way he does. The way he wants to.  
  
Lightly, he nods, glancing around the room for a short take. He can count the things that are his and the things that are just part of the space that's been given to him. Probably on a single hand.  
  
"Nearly everything I've got is inherited. Just things that belonged to someone else. It's different... But it isn't. We call it inherited because it's supposed to be worth keeping."  
  
And what happens when you don't want it? Be grateful, Augustus would say. _Everything I've given you, be grateful.  
_  
"The flat will be ours, everything in it. New, so it is ours _first_. All the things we want and nothing we don't."  
\---  
Jim smiled as Sebastian declared that they'd have their own belongings, everything theirs. He didn't just say the flat was his, that things would be his. It was _theirs_. Jim really wasn't materialistic, but truly, that was because he didn't have the means to be. Anymore. He knew luxury, he'd experienced it. But nowadays, poverty has been his companion. And yet not once did he ever regret his decision. There was a name for what he was, an ugly label given out by psychiatrists.  
  
Jim didn't like it, not one bit. But Sebastian was proof that it wasn't true, wasn't he?  
  
He reached up and set his small hands on either side of Sebastian's face. "A place for you to write...A place for me to read." He tilted his head and looked at Sebastian curiously. Would he be much different, if they lived together? Would he change and become controlling, now that he had what he wanted? There really wasn't any way to tell... especially considering Sebastian's temper. Jim would be trapped.  
  
Staring at the blond, looking at him with utter adoration....Jim decided it was worth the risk.  
  
"I want lots of blankets. Thick duvets. If you're sleeping on the sofa all the time, I want to make sure I'm going to be warm." He teased, moving his hands to smear bubbles up along Sebastian's jaw and down his neck.  
\---  
Jim is staring at him, different things making their way across his face but they aren't terribly difficult to read at the moment. Is he getting better at understanding him or is it the walls Jim lowers when he's with Sebastian that allow it? One by one in cautious steps and yet there are still so many. Between Jim's hands, he nods a definite yes; A place for each of them, but together. Crafted by their own hands to be just what they want.  
  
He isn't the handsy one at the moment, with his arms resting on the porcelain ledge. Jim slides fingers cased in bubbles over his skin, a funny feeling as they crackle softly on lightly freckled tan. Those hands are warm for the moment, stealing heat from water and body the way he suggested with the covers.  
  
"Thick bedclothes and a little heater." He grins lightly. "That ought to cover my absence."  
  
He chuckles softly, not mentioning the part where Jim ended up with him anyway. If it happened again, he wouldn't mind; at least a couch would be softer than the floor for both of them. So then, a couch big enough for two.  
  
Sebastian shifts his long legs carefully, making water ripple underneath the layer of thick bubbles. On the matter of staying warm, of things new and owned, he is reminded another time of things forcibly lost. He tilts his head in slight, approaching the matter a bit carefully, considering comments made and Jim's reluctance to speak of his life outside of Sebastian's impeding presence.  
  
"Before the holiday is over, we should replace your things. It's my fault you lost them."  
  
And that's also dangerously close to having a conversation about what happened in that alley, isn't it?  
\---  
When Sebastian moves his legs, it shifts Jim as well, and he rocks against Sebastian's chest in a slow slide that brings him closer against the older boy. A tilt of his head has him pressed against the blond's jaw, and he not only hears, but feels the question murmured beside his ear. No, that's not right. It's not a question. It's a statement. He is telling Jim what they should do. Replacing the rucksack full of clothes- full of Jim's entire wardrobe- that was destroyed, left in the alleyway as they ran from a crime that both of them had repeated twice within this week spent together.  
  
It's not really Sebastian's fault and they both know it. It's Jim, for inducing the ire of the boy to the point he saw the need to strike out. Only Jim hadn't been doing anything offensive, beyond simply existing.  
  
He had thought Sebastian was already replacing his things with his own. Jim didn't expect any more than that. After all, the clothes had already just been someone's clothing from thrift stores.  
  
"You already have. I'll just take your hand me downs. They'll be a bit big, but they are well made and warm. That's all I need. One day I'll grow into them."  
  
Not likely. Sebastian is a tower, Jim only a pedestal.  
\---  
Sebastian would not have agreed. For all the avoiding he had done thus far in thinking about what happened, one thing was for certain in his head; Jim's belongings were lost because of him. Because of his panic. His sudden need to get the small Irish boy as far away as possible from not just the damaging situation but the blind rage that had unraveled out of Sebastian himself. And not because he feared he would turn it on him, but because of the impending consequences of it.  
  
And as much as he would detest the idea of Jim blaming himself, that's not the argument he knows to have. Sebastian instead, laughs lightly at Jim's remark about growing into his things.  
  
"They're three times your size." He sounds incredulous, if not amused by the idea. Jim is so close to him just now, he turns his face closer, maybe to look at him and maybe just to press the side of his mouth against skin he vaguely kisses. And if he was going to say anything else on the matter of convincing, he relinquishes just like that with a smile.  
  
"If that's what you want."  
  
And there is some small idea-- okay it isn't that small at all, he actually finds it rather endearing to think about Jim wearing his things. As too big as they are, as much as he should have proper fitting clothes to make sure he's warm and comfortable and has exactly as he likes, Jim being wrapped up in what used to be his is a bit like Jim having nestled himself right into the center of his very body. Right into his very life.  
\---  
"Then I just have to grow three times as much." Jim says indignantly, though it’s hard when Sebastian is pressing lazy kisses against his face. His nose scrunches a bit at the drag of lips, but he doesn't protest. Like Sebastian doesn't when Jim claims the hand me downs are enough. He supposes the older boy is happy not to waste the extra funds, when already Jim has been steadily dipping into his bank account.  
  
"It’s just clothes. I'm used to nothing fitting. As long as they are functional and warm, that's all that matters. I'd rather spend the money on books and blankets."  
  
Because neither are things he wants to skimp on.  
  
The bubbles crackle as he sits up, a plaster of them smeared up his chest and throat like a makeshift bit of armor. But the armor Jim can summon up is far thicker and strong enough to keep out the most persistent invader.  
  
But such things would rust in the bath, so he left them aside. And this has left him very vulnerable when he asks,  
  
"Do you want to keep it a secret that we are together, at the university?"  
\----  
What Sebastian doesn't say is that it is only a temporary relinquish to the argument. When the time comes for university, he'll insist for both of them, as part of the change in their lives. New attire, new blankets, new home. But for now, Jim has made his point that he does not seem to care. Or rather, he prioritizes in a way Sebastian doesn't because one is used to budget and the other knows the funding has plenty of space to squirm.  
Jim sits up and Sebastian follows him with his gaze, smiling a bit at the bubbles clinging like fabric on his pale skin. Before he can move his hand off the edge of the basin to smear them any further, Jim poses a different question and it makes his brow twitch forward.  
  
"No?" It's not really a question but the inflection sounds a bit, well maybe not quite as strong as confusion. It just hadn't occurred to him.  
  
"What would be the point?"  
  
And that's his privilege, isn't it? Getting away with things, not being questioned by most people. It isn't the same for Jim and the absurdity of it to Sebastian just makes him forget. He may need to grow three times the size to fit into Sebastian's clothes, but Jim's presence and his worth, those are already towering above him. And that comes from someone who is quite honestly, very vain.  
  
And maybe, too, Sebastian wants the world to know who they belong to. That he is Jim's and even if he can't say the words aloud, Jim is his.  
\---  
To that inquiry, Jim shrugs. It's not really a point for him, it's a point for Sebastian. He's a popular, handsome rich boy, and agreeing to be Jim's boyfriend while they are tucked away in a private castle is quite different than sharing that fact with the rest of the world. It's been proven that people think very little of Jim with his appearance alone. He will surely wound Sebastian's social standing.  
  
"What's the point of anything?"  
  
He asks in his cool tone, leaning forwards and sealing their mouths together in a lazy kiss. "What's the point of that?" He murmurs against Sebastian's mouth, wrapping his arms around the older boy's neck, bringing them closer together.  
  
"What's the point of you, of me?"  
  
He pecks the corner of Sebastian's mouth, and settles back against Sebastian's chest. "I just don't want to ruin anything."  
\---  
Jim's response sounds almost existential and it's a bit amusing coming from him instead of Sebastian himself. He could make a lot of points about what the _point_ of that kiss was. What the point of Jim was- what the point of _them_ was. 'Us' as an ideal because that meant great things and maybe the _points_ were entirely selfish but they were theirs. Who else did they care for anyway?  
  
As it is when those lips touch his, he doesn't want them to go, but Jim settles on a final statement as he settles against him again.  
  
"Ruin?" He's surprised by the choice of word and maybe he shouldn't be, after some of the statements Jim has made already. It's just absurd. "What could you ruin?"  
  
Maybe to that, he blind. He inclines his face towards Jim and his right hand slides off the basin lip finally, warm when it touches Jim's back and gently caresses up his spine to shoulder blades to the base of his neck, never mind the bubbles and water he meets on the pathway.  
  
Maybe Jim's forgotten or maybe he never really figured it out for truth. Sebastian may not have been an empty shell but before Jim, he certainly had holes. Large voids just took up space inside of him and all those people who should have filled them in occupied only enough room to tolerate. Because when Jim appeared, he didn't care enough to defend them, to mourn them; he didn't care enough to seek vengeance. They held such slim import that he quite did the opposite; he's fa--  
  
...He's chosen the side of the person who was supposed to be the enemy. If he has such lack of concern for the boys who were meant to be his mates, why would he care any for the strangers who stand by watching? He doesn't need them or their approval.  
\---  
Jim sighs and arches up slightly into the caressing hand slipping its way down his spine. He can be so cat like in some ways, how he delves out and accepts affection, how he is finicky and difficult at times, and demands attention at others. But most of all, how deceivingly dangerous he can be.  
  
"Us."  
  
He replies simply on the cusp of another sigh. He stares from beneath heavy eyelids, shifting brown eyes up to Sebastian. Not even the older boy's dark coffee is that rich, a complicated shade that seems black until you are close enough to notice it isn't.  
  
Holding Sebastian in that stare, it only breaks when his eyes blink. Jim is not naive. He knows that Sebastian, despite his temper, is the easy one to get along with. Jim is far more difficult. The chances of him doing something to jeopardize their arrangement are incredibly high, despite how much he benefits from it.  
  
He runs his soapy fingers up the back of Sebastian's neck, rubbing the nape below his line of fair hair.  
  
"You're good for me...'Bastian." And it’s so soft, it might as well be a whisper, echoing faintly across the tiled walls of the bathroom.  
\---  
_Us_. he says. A single, small word that encompasses much. It shines a light on Jim's thoughts in a way he doesn't terribly often allow.  
  
_I don't want to ruin us_.  
  
Well. Sebastian could argue till he was blue in the face that he just wouldn't let that happen but it's not entirely his to control. Yes, he is easier to get along with; _accommodating_ , as it were. He's agreeable most of the time and terribly unwillingly to upset Jim, as difficult as it is to predict. Still, a whim could send Jim away for all Sebastian's effort to try and amend whatever he's done. The Irish boy won't be tethered, not the way the older boy is. And that is the truth of them.  
  
Small, soft fingers on the back of his neck are rather soothing and his own respond when they travel back down slender spine, dipping beneath the soapy water. He doesn't expect Jim to say such a thing, and it's so quiet and fragile that it barely lingers in the air before shying away into nothing but memory.  
  
Sebastian's arm curls around Jim's small waist and pulls him in tighter, its busted sister lifting off the porcelain to draw fingers through dark, dry strands as water sloshes and bubbles crackle all around them in the shift of their bodies. His face is tilted towards pale cheek, lips on skin, speaking soft and affectionate so the words could get just as lost against the surface.  
  
"We're good for each other." He kisses; here, there, to find Jim's lips and finishes with a promise pressed to them.  
  
"So don't think I'll make it easy." Because knowing the reality of their dynamic and accepting it powerlessly are very different things. It would be a terrible mistake to think he'd lie down and let them crumble without a fight. After all, he already told Jim: It's you I can't go without.  
\---  
The only reply Sebastian has is to pull Jim in and run fingers through his hair, pressing kisses climbing across his face until he finds lips and mouths words against them. But they are good words, ones that promise Sebastian holds Jim in just as much value.  
  
They offer each other an escape, from different lives and different fates. By giving the other boy a new path to walk, hand in hand they'll change the future the world had set before them before they had one another.  
  
Jim sighs and closes his eyes, bringing his arms around tighter, hugging the thick muscles around Sebastian's neck. "If you think I'm worth it." Because he really isn't, but Sebastian seems to think so. If Jim can convince him of it a bit longer, perhaps they can even be happy together.  
\---  
Arms around his neck make him squeeze tighter for several seconds, his arm slippery against the skin. He tucks his face into the crook of the Irish boy's neck and Jim's words in his ear make his chest tight and his heart ache. How dare the world convince James Moriarty that he isn't worth the sun and moon and stars combined.  
  
"Infinitely." It goes muffled against the curve between small shoulder and he sighs, but he’s content with their closeness and grand ideas. Maybe that's dangerous to rest on with such certainty but for the sake of Jim, in spite of everything that would attempt to stop them, he's determined to make it so with more fervor than anything else.  
  
His fingers draw back to rest plaster safely on the basin edge and even though he loosens the strength of his hold, he doesn't unfurl that arm just yet, his thumb stroking lightly where it lay.  
\---  
Jim lays there, silent now, and just relaxes into the gentle hold Sebastian has on him, touch slipping back and forth on his hip in a lazy pace. Sebastian has his favorite spots, Jim has long learned that the pronounced curve of his pelvic bone is primary.

It's easy to laze about on top of Sebastian like this, drifting in and out of awareness. But eventually his skin begins to wrinkle in the cooling water and nearly all the bubbles have dissipated. Jim drags his body to sit up on Sebastian's lap. He yawns and stretches his arms up over his head, making the already stark torso's ribs stand out prominently.

"If my fingers prune up anymore, I won't be able to play you anything."  
\---  
When Jim moves, his hand does as well, lifting out of the water to drape over the edge of the basin again as he watches Jim arch and stretch his small body.  
  
The water is lukewarm and every muscle has hatched out its tension so the only thing remaining is sluggish comfort. He was dreadfully lazy, as Jim suggested earlier. He could have stayed there for hours but it's impractical and he's made promises.  
  
"I think you've stolen all the heat by now." If the lingering warmth of Jim's skin were any indication. He knew it would be short lived unless he was kept warm by fire and blankets. Sebastian shifts carefully to sit up straighter, waiting for Jim to step out first. And perhaps he likes to watch the way water slides down his skin.  
\---  
Jim dips his hands into the patch of water clear of bubbles, sliding a cupped handful over his dark head and wetting his hair before he pushes up climbs onto his feet. He towers over Sebastian for once, flicking water from his fingertips at the older boy, before stepping out of the tub and dripping across the mat as he reaches for a towel. Wrapping himself tight in the soft cotton, he rubs the moisture from his body.  
  
He tucks the towel around his waist, then heads to the cabinet to search through Sebastian's colognes and aftershaves. He smells several before he finds one he likes, and taps a bit behind his ears and down the hollow of his throat. He finds a comb and smoothes back his damp hair, slicking it into a smooth coif before sitting down on the closed lid of the toilet to watch Sebastian follow in suit.  
\---  
Sebastian leans forward as Jim steps out of the bath tub, a light grin responding to his playful gesture. Droplets drive down his skin in rivulets that collide together, sliding towards the floor beneath his feet. He's so fair skinned, you could miss the water dappled in thick spots if not for the glint of light reflecting on them.  
  
The Irish boy wraps up and Sebastian leans further forward to pull the plug on the drain. He's on his feet in another moment, using his good hand as leverage to stand, a loud cascade of water rivaling the sound of it being sucked down into the pipes. He isn't quite done however, flicking the shower head on in a cold spray that makes him hiss as it hits his warmer skin.  
  
He wets his hair and rubs a palm of soap through it, rinsed and stepping out at last during the time Jim dries himself and rummages through his cabinets. Dabbing off his body limb by limb and wrapping the towel around his hips, he stands in front of the mirror while Jim now sits watching, a hint of cologne in the moist air and dark eyes scrutinizing his procedure. He brushes teeth and rakes fingers through damp hair, pushing it back neatly where a few strands refuse to stay. With a hand running over his already stubbled jaw, he glances at Jim.  
\---  
It's interesting to watch Sebastian's grooming. The boy is so meticulous about his hair, and while it looks good, and Sebastian looks good as a result of it, Jim hardly cares as much about his own. The dark strands are already drying into a near permanent floof.  
  
When Sebastian looks over at Jim, as if silently asking a question, the Irish boy shrugs. He likes the stubble, as long as it doesn't grow into a beard. Well, maybe he'd like it if he tried, but he doesn't care to let it go that far. He shakes his head and stands up, tossing the towel to the side and crossing over to Sebastian to push him out of the way with a bump of his hip. It barely shoves him over, but Jim leans over the counter and takes the toothbrush to start cleaning his teeth.  
  
He spits into the sink as he finishes, and stares at his pale reflection in the mirror. The rings around his eyes have all but vanished, and he's not sure if he recognizes the boy who stares back at him in the mirror anymore. He's not sure if that's a good thing or not.  
  
Jim turns around and looks up at Sebastian. "Keep it."  
  
And then wanders away into Sebastian's room to find something warm to climb into, whether it be a bed or some clothes.


	27. What the Water Gave Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And time goes quicker between the two of us.
> 
> The story of Moriarty and Moran, from the very beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **This fic is no longer being updated.**  
>  As of now, there are no plans to continue updating Glory and Gore. We apologize for the abrupt, unfinished ending but due to personal reasons, it will not be continued. 
> 
> Thank you so much for your support up until this point, it meant so much. It was greatly appreciated and will never be forgotten. It's incredibly unfortunate that things turned out this way, the fic deserved a proper ending, but the situation is unresolvable. We thank you for your understanding and respect on the matter.
> 
> As always, we must thank our wonderful [Hippano](http://hippano.tumblr.com/) for her continued support with beta and gorgeous art!

Now he's watching Jim, because small things can mean very big things when so little is known but physical language. Jim stares at himself in an unreadable manner and Sebastian's eyes flick from the face to the reflection trying to see what he sees, but everything is clouded by his own view. Rose colored, some might call it.

The Irish boy turns to him and they meet gazes momentarily, with a suggestion he takes as an order before Jim departs the washroom and its moist environment. "Yes, boss."

He turns back to the mirror to glance over himself for another minute with scrutiny, because vanity doesn't end with his face. Before he leaves, he puts his bathroom back into order and abandons his towel in the hamper, making his way out into the bedroom for boxers and sleepers while simultaneously picking up any trail of other clothing and pausing to neatly fold the two suits in their respective separate piles to be properly cleaned later. He leaves those on the chair by the wardrobe and goes about pulling the record player on its small table out from the corner of the room. A small cabinet behind its usual placement shows a collection of vinyl recordings neatly and meticulously arranged like books, nearly all of them classical orchestra works, and on the bottommost shelf, an older collection of blues vocals and jazz that had belonged to his mother. He glances to see if Jim has crawled into the bed already or if he'd like to choose their first piece.  
\---  
Jim has found a comfortable jumper of Sebastian's to climb into, the sleeves oversized and hanging over his fingers, and the hem reaching to his knobby knees. He's seated himself on the edge of the bed and rubs at his cheek with the cuff of the sweatshirt. The rainy weather and chill of the old house makes him feel sleepy and the desire to warm himself up again after the bath is great.

When Sebastian looks back at him, he shrugs, letting the blond choose as he pleases. Jim's more interested in crawling under the duvet and curling against the pillows. The frequent sleep has made his body desire to glut itself on it and he sees no reason to do anything otherwise.

Shifting around on the bed, he heads for the mound of cushions and pushes at them till he's made a comfortable Jim sized nest. With a yawn, he wriggles himself under the duvet and pulls it up to his nose, hoping to get rid of the frosty bite that has settled in.

"You promised me a fire." He reminds again, voice muffled by thick cotton and down.  
\---  
"I haven't forgotten." Sebastian reassures that a fire is on the list as he glides fingertips over the thin spines of his records, their order memorized and listing off in his head until he doubles back and plucks one out. In the end, he really does choose a Tchaikovsky.

Moving back to the record player, he opens the glass case protecting it, very gentle in handling the vinyl as it’s set. He places the needle just as delicately and waits for the first note before he moves away. The room fills with music as he paces to the fireplace; there is still enough wood set aside from Jim lighting a fire the other day that he doesn't need to fetch more. Convenient, because he doesn't have to leave the room and be reacquainted with tension he's only just worked out.

In a few minutes’ fussing, the fireplace is set, lit by matches from the mantle and babied for another several minutes more until it's strong enough to leave burning. Warmth graces his skin but the reddish yellow light doesn't quite reach him, drowned out by the glow of daytime streaming through the window he'd uncovered earlier. Finally he's on his feet again, turning to fetch Jim's stack of books and deliver it to the bedside table not taken up by the tray of breakfast remnants.

"Better?" A question for the Jim shaped bird in its nest of bedding.  
\---  
Jim shifts in the blankets and sniffs at the crackle of fireplace, the smell of ash and smoke wafting through the room. It adds a warmth to not only the room, but the master of lullabies that fills the atmosphere. Jim could easily fall asleep again in this comfort, but Sebastian is talking to him and the rumble of his voice draws Jim's attention.

He turns his head and peers up at the blond from over the edge of the duvet; at his obnoxiously perfectly coiffed hair, and the fresh scent of cedar and bergamot that must be from either the shampoo or the cologne Jim had swiped.

He shakes his head and lifts his hand up from under the cover, reaching out fingers that have already started to grow cold and skimming over Sebastian's jaw. Then they clench around his chin and jerk him forwards abruptly.

"Not yet. You still aren't in here with me."

It might have been malicious, if it wasn't delivered in such a lazy tone.  
\---  
Jaw pulled forward, he stems the good hand into the bed as he leans down, huffing a soft laugh at Jim's lazy, demanding tone. Scooping up the edge of the duvet with the other arm, he pushes and then pulls it over him as he crawls back into the bed and nothing is quite as appealing as that at the moment.

Whether preemptive or habitual, he lays out on his back, settling his damp head on whatever pillows remain after Jim has made his nest of them. Music dances through the room and there's something seductively peaceful about the whole setting. He could almost, really pretend that they were alone in a little flat together, all theirs and nothing else mattered.

Jim is already chilled in his furthest extremities and Sebastian moves his arm to offer space against his body so that he might remedy the matter because in contrast, the blond may be even warmer now than usual, having sat in front of the fire, tending its health.

"And now?" He asks again.  
\---  
Jim really hates becoming a predictable person, but the lull of Sebastian's body warmth is enough that he doesn't rightfully care at the moment. He rolls from his nest, tucking into the line of Sebastian's side, molding against it. He huffs and lays his head against the blond's shoulder and reaches up, pressing his fingers against the older boy's lips.

"Shhh." He demands, because if Sebastian keeps teasing he's going to shove him out of bed again. He throws a leg over the blond's and nuzzles into him until he's comfortable, then drags his hand down from Sebastian's mouth to curl over the side of his neck instead.

Jim could read, but nothing in the books he'd taken from the library were as fascinating as the pictures Sebastian painted with his mind.

"Tell me another story." Even though he's already ordered him to be quiet, and this contradicts; it doesn't matter. Jim changes his mind frequently, whether it's been a matter of minutes or days.  
\---  
The order is rather amusing but he is obedient, if not expecting to fall asleep swiftly in the ongoing peace of music, warmth, and closeness. However, the other boy has a different idea when posing a request he must know Sebastian will not deny. Quietly he chuckles, the vibration in his throat and fluctuation in his chest where Jim's arm rests.

"You must have read most of my stories by now."

Considering he’s been going through Sebastian’s journals, but he is not without ideas and things unwritten in those pages. With a soft hum, fingers gently drawing over any part of Jim they touch, he considers for a few minutes through Tchaikovsky's symphony. It's like sifting through a catalogue of wild imagination and symbolic imagery. It isn't always easy to come up with a fully formed idea in such quickness but Sebastian's mind has its own library of stories, both his and history's.

He seems to find one, taking a deep breath, his voice getting that tone of storytelling almost naturally. Calm, low but clear.

"Somewhere East, there is an island where a village rests by great bluffs overlooking the water. The nights get dreadfully cold and the smell of the sea seeps into everything, but they live abundant because they need little.

“A beautiful woman lives alone, fair hair down to her knees, coiled by the salty air. Pale skin and eyes of water. She falls in love with a man who passes through their harbor on a ship of thieves and he promises her all the riches the sea can offer.

“When he sets sail again, bound to fetch a fortune and return to her so they may marry, she weaves him a necklace of clustered pearls and braided seaweed which he is never to take off. With faith in his words, she passes his time away by going down to the shore and searching for pearls within the great many oysters which wash up from the waters. She ties them into her long hair amongst satin ribbons and precious shells, like adornments for their wedding day.

“Illness strikes her beloved on the sea and his body is tied to weights which drag him to the ocean floor still breathing, so that his sickness will not spread. The years pass by, and he does not return.

“Silver begins to grow amongst pale gold and she tries to cover it with the pretty things she gathers. When she has found the last of a thousand pearls, she climbs the bluffs where she waits for his ship and ties it into her hair. Beneath the sun, she glitters bright enough to be a star, and throws herself from the cliffside like a diamond tossed into ocean.

“Yet her body does not wash away. The maiden becomes a spirit of the water, shimmering gold fins and iridescent skin, hair of silver and pearls and green ribbons of seaweed. She swims the oceans in search of ships, where she drags sailors from their decks. But every man she finds is not her beloved and in her anger, her adorned hair wraps around them like strangling weeds and she pulls them into the suffocating depths to drown.

“In her eternal time, she scours the ocean floors in search of trinkets to tie into her ever growing hair, when she happens upon the trapped bones of a sunken sailor. He wears a necklace of clustered pearls, tied with braided seaweed clinging to the indistinguishable vertebrae.

“In her grief of finally finding him, she ties the silver strands of her hair together with the necklace and curls up atop his remains, mourning for him ever more. Her anger and sadness swell, churning great storms on the surface of the seas until her body wastes away into nothing but raging waters. The pearls of her hair scatter the ocean floor and the great waves of her sorrow claim the lives of men and their ships, eternally restless.

“Unforgiving."  
\---  
Jim smiles as Sebastian comments on his request, yet obliges and delves into his story. It's woven beautifully with its imagery, and yet tragic, as Sebastian's stories tend to be. It's evident Sebastian has had a lot of sadness in his life, the way it bleeds through into his storytelling. Jim is clever enough to spot similarities in the older boy's life, though it might be too subtle for anyone else to notice. The possibility of a love that may not be returned, and yet is strong enough change the world, irrevocably.

He rolls over onto Sebastian, reaching out to grab hold of his face. Small fingers move up and run over his cheekbones, examining those blue eyes. Would Sebastian cover himself in pearls and wait for Jim? Or is it Jim who would end up pining over the loss of his only companion?

He sighs softly and leans down, pressing their mouths together. Jim hums into the kiss and closes his eyes, letting the embrace linger, giving Sebastian the chance to take what he covets. He's earned it for his story.  
\---  
Touching Sebastian's face appears to be a habit of Jim's. His hands gravitate there, whether softly or harshly, drawing his attention as if he did not command it naturally. He can't begin to guess what goes on behind those dark eyes but small fingers do not bite and Jim kisses him, so he must approve of the tale Sebastian has told.

Fingers splay themselves out on pale skin and press Jim just a fraction tighter against his frame. He's gorged himself on their closeness today and still he does not tire, nor waste the given opportunity to savor affection, even in their languid state.

He sighs comfortably, delicately around their kiss and stays settled. Maybe Sebastian does and maybe he does not realize the suggestion of his stories but his reward is sweet and wordless, and Jim's quiet understanding eases unsettled waters.  
\---  
Jim ends the kiss with a little nip to Sebastian's bottom lip and then pulls away to lay his head on the other boy's shoulder, nestled in close to his warm neck. Jim pushes his cold nose right against the other's skin, warding away the chill.

"I never liked boats much."

He closes his eyes and listens to the symphony fill the room with wind and brass instruments, percussions and strings. He respects Tchaikovsky, always one of his favorite composers. His music was filled with the crushing despair of a man who could not properly express himself in a time where homosexual men were hunted down and stoned savagely. Tragedy always made music sound sweeter. All the greatest artists had troubled minds. Jim could relate in many ways, though he wasn't exactly going to be burned at the stake or stoned this day and age. With Sebastian in his life, would he still be able to make beautiful things? Would that sadness stay with him or eventually fade away?

Or would his last symphony prelude his death as well?  
\---  
Sebastian hums softly as Jim settles against him, the smallest hint of upward turn at the corner of his mouth. It stretches and he breathes amusement at Jim's note. It has been a rather long while since he was on a boat- a ship more specifically- and he can't recall being particularly enamored or hateful of them.

"I don't really remember them."

There is curiosity in his thoughts and he isn't certain if the subject is out of the realm of permissions. They balance precariously in their peace and he is terribly aware of the complicated arrangement it takes for them to arrive at that point. A single knock on the door could shatter it all the same.

He isn't certain posing lines of questioning and testing the boundaries are worth interrupting their calm. Steadily, fingers trace nonsense on Jim's skin and Sebastian lets his eyes close what might be dangerously. Tchaikovsky plays melodiously for them and it could put him to sleep.

"Is it the water or the motion?" The usual suspects of someone not liking watercraft.  
\---  
"Neither."

Jim says flatly as way of explanation. He rolls to his side a bit so he can speak properly, because surely Sebastian will pursue his line of questioning till he gets the answers to that which makes him curious.

"My parents were lost at sea."

In a sense. The ocean became their grave, but they weren't really lost. He knew exactly what had put them there. He lazily hums a line of the concerto. Jim doesn't fear the ocean, he respects it. But that doesn't mean he hasn't often dreamt of those black churning waves and the water logged corpses that dwell beneath.  
\---  
Sebastian had opened his mouth and taken the breath that would have formed his words but Jim preempted his question directly. Instead, the blond just exhales it right back out like the words have jabbed him in the solar plexus. Blue eyes are open immediately.

It's not that you could really expect someone to tell you that both of their parents were dead, particularly with a casual tone that proceeded to hum the tragedy of someone's life work. But certainly, Sebastian is surprised, and it is hard to say if it's the blunt way Jim said it or the fact he told him at all. Mind you, he has never gotten the sense that Jim has lied to him. He trusts that. Only, he doesn't talk about himself. He doesn't like to, so much Sebastian isn't blind of.

And what is he supposed to say?

What did Sebastian do when Finley turned up crippled for life? When Aveline told him her daughter had died just before she came to work for the estate? What did he do when his friends were being picked off one by one? Oliver and his damn near sobbing.

Jim is none of those people. Jim does not cry or get choked up on sentimentality. They are alike that way. Jim did not coddle Sebastian when he told him about his mother and neither can Sebastian pour sympathies that may be undue. Neither of them want it.

He's staring at him and minutes have probably ticked by without Sebastian realizing. There are many things that both make sense and leave more questions. Jim has answered him, so Sebastian pursues.

"How old were you?"  
\---  
Silence hovers between them, and Jim isn't so naive to think Sebastian has fallen asleep, or chosen to keep quiet. He knows the boy has been shocked, and that he's trying to be clever with how he poses his questions, because he is so worried of overstepping and causing Jim to leave. Because Jim has done it before and will do it again. He is not a loyal woman pining by the sea and collecting shells and pearls. Jim is the ocean, tumultuous and destructive.

"Fourteen. It happened last year, on the way to England from Ireland."

He huffs a sigh and taps his fingers against Sebastian's sternum, listening to the hollow thump it makes. It takes over thirty pounds of pressure to break the average human's sternum. Jim judges Sebastian would require forty. That’s nearly half Jim's weight. Not that he is planning to anytime soon. Just another thing to know.  
\---  
Sebastian cannot tell what is going on in that unruly dark head but Jim is not looking at him either. Still, he indulges the older boy's questions despite that they are not cleverly posed at all, even revealing more than just the subject matter.

"Last year. Is that when you came to London? Where you with them?"

 _Last year_. Shouldn't that be shocking? Traumatizing? Does that explain things? But this is James Moriarty, who hates his name so much he can't stand to hear it. Who tenses at the prospect of saying it. That's not mourning, is it? It's something more. Anger.

Jim trusts him, Sebastian knows that, but it has its boundaries. He tiptoes on the limits asking questions openly, trying not to press too much, too quickly. But Jim is a puzzle. A complicated math equation Sebastian has been trying to grasp and it's very likely impossible to solve because the variables are ever changing.  
\---  
"I've been here before. But that's when I came over for good. I was on the boat they were, yes."

Jim would never consider himself _with_ them. They were woefully neglectful at best. But that was another world, one Jim didn't care to revisit. He drags his hand down over Sebastian's chest, searching for softer spots, searching for weaknesses.

Just another thing to know.

He lifts his head and looks down at Sebastian because he can feel the boy straining to catch sight of him. Jim's expression is completely neutral, and that's dangerous in its own right. Sebastian is treading dangerous waters, but he hasn't sunk under the waves yet. Jim is a tepid sea at the moment.  
\---  
Underneath Jim's hand, Sebastian's chest rises high and falls with weighted sigh. It's thoughtful; one that draws him back into his own head about the subject matter.

The questions are getting awfully close to talking _about_ them and not just around them. Something about the way it was worded...well. There are only so many ways for a pair to get 'lost as sea' while the boat survives and what happened, exactly, isn't terribly important. Not about them. Jim is alive, that matters. It's _all_ that really matters. What sort of tragedy do you have to experience not to be traumatized by losing parents from a boat you were on. There are so many questions.

Sebastian doesn't want to talk about dead parents anymore.

His fingers make idle shapes again. Turning his head on the pillows, he glances up at the high, tiered ceiling, inlaid with pointless frames painted gold to match the equally pointless embossed flourishes. That isn't the only thing Jim just told him. Fourteen a year ago. Not sixteen or a young looking seventeen whereabouts Finley is. But-

"Fifteen."

He exhales the number with amusement. It's young. Sebastian turns eighteen in a short month and Jim is a few months off from another birthday. Well, that probably wasn't going to stop Sebastian anyway, even if he had known it from the beginning.

 _Bloody hell._ It's a scandal, if they weren't already. Which they were.

"You really are amazing, aren't you?" It isn't really a question because he knows it's true.  
\---  
Jim looks up at the mention of his age. An eyebrow arches, because really, he's surprised when people even think he's that old. He's a tiny thing, and hasn't had his growth spurt yet, if he ever gets it. He slowly pushes up to sit on top of Sebastian's hips.

"Yes. And you really are a creep."

Though Jim is undoubtedly far past being a child, technically he is not legal. In the eyes of the government, Sebastian is an adult, but Jim is not. Their relationship is so very taboo on multiple levels and there is no doubt when Sebastian's father actually sees him, he will swear the relationship off. How Sebastian didn't put such things together in his own mind is obviously because he has been blinded by his own obsession.

He tilts his head to the side and stares down at the blond, tapping a hand over his stomach.

"You ask a lot of questions you already know the answer to. Seems you should be asking ones where the answers will actually enlighten you."  
\---  
He huffs a laugh and not because it's absurd. He has already acknowledged the situation as dysfunctional. He's aware of who the predator is and Jim made it pretty clear once already what he called it. The difference in their ages did not change whose hands were around the other's neck. What was he supposed to do about it now? Suddenly shove Jim out of the house and never see him again? It wasn't possible.

With the smaller boy sitting up on him, his hands rest on slender thighs, slowly sliding from hips to knees and back again.

"I have been very enlightened by this conversation." Comes the interjection. He stares up at Jim, always trying to accomplish the impossible when he watches him.

"That's at least five new things I've just learned." More, if he considers below the surface of the information. He stays settled, paying no real mind to the tapping going on against his torso. Despite his somewhat playful response, the new question is serious.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?"  
\---  
Enlightened? Jim gives an inelegant snort. How so? Sebastian already knows he is a creeper, he's assaulted and practically forced himself on Jim, but then Jim had certainly made him pay for it so many times over. And he will, constantly, for as long as they will be acquainted.

When Sebastian asks what happened and if Jim would like to share, the boy turns his head to the side, frowning slightly. It is a time he does not like to revisit, so of course he thinks of it often. But he's certainly never shared.

"Before I had you to protect me..." He starts, bringing his gaze back to Sebastian, to the only person who has ever made an attempt to understand him. "I had to protect myself from the things that hurt me." From the people.

He doesn't elaborate but does he need to? Sebastian knows him enough that he can piece it together. Knows what he is capable of when provoked. He leans down and lays against Sebastian, tucking up under his chin in his usual spot.  
\---  
He had to protect himself. That's all Jim has really been doing since the day they met and... the possibility of his lifetime, leading up to the moment when Sebastian made it his personal job to put himself in between Jim and the rest of the world. This isn't a spoiled boy who is misunderstood by neglectful parents. Real hurt is under the surface, damage and scars that force Jim to fight back as if every person is the same level of threat. What monsters the world must seem. Him too.

When Jim returns flush against his chest, Sebastian's good arm moves around him as if it were a shield. He thought they asked for it before but now he's certain of how deserving every single one of them were. It's a flutter of distinct hatred in his chest that makes him sigh softly, swallowing it back down as it forms a knot of anger in his throat. He closes his eyes.  
  
"You're stronger than I am."

 No. Sebastian doesn't need elaboration.  
\---  
Jim no longer tenses up when that strong arm wraps around him. He's quite used to it; he even finds comfort in it. Before, he'd think it was weak to find such safety and solace in another person. But Sebastian found much the same thing in Jim, so it was well worth it to rely on each other. He's long since become addicted to the warmth, that perhaps Sebastian has settled deep in his bones. And that’s what the blond has always wanted, isn't it?

For Jim to be his.

The boy hums with Sebastian's statement. It may be true in some aspects, but certainly not all. The chest he lays upon is a solid block of muscle and strength that Jim could never manage. It's a rather decent bed.

"Too bad I'm so dreadfully lazy." He pushes away the dark air that has settled around them and smirks softly, tilting his head up. "You'll just have to get stronger. For me."  
\---  
As he feels Jim shift, Sebastian turns his head to look at him, catching that smirk on his mouth. When Jim wants to be- when he allows himself to be- he is so very expressive. It's contagious to Sebastian and makes him grin, brushing off the lingering digest of ugly truths.  
  
"Absolutely." Because what use is a shield that bends. "I'll become the _best_. For you."

 It's overconfidence maybe but he brims with it the same way Jim over spills with cunning. There is no other option but to aim for perfection if he seeks to protect Jim and his brilliant light from the rest of the world. And that's exactly what Sebastian intends to do.

**Author's Note:**

> Baru: A couple of nitpicking notes I'm going to make here! 
> 
> 1: Year/timeline: There has been debate back and forth about what year this begins in. In theory, it's the early 90's. Take it to heart or disregard, it's not overly important to us to be _that_ precise.
> 
> 2: Eton, as full boarding, gives limited time away from the school for students on a regular basis. I wanted to keep in line with him attending Eton but it would have been considerably difficult to work around the heavy scheduling of their time off. I can't find solid information about how often the students are allowed out for things like weekends, so we've fudged it. There is a policy I've read about getting one weekend home per term with permission and I've run with the idea of permission for weekend outings more often. 
> 
> Jim, on the other hand, attends Westminster, which has non-boarding options. In reality, their time off does not sink up exactly but does fall on the same months and has cross over dates, so we've fudged that for convenience also.
> 
> A few Eton specific terms you're going to see through out:  
>  **Divs** \- classes/lectures.  
>  **Beaks/Masters** \- teachers.  
>  **Tails** \- the uniform.  
>  **Colleger** \- A student on scholarship at the school.  
>  **EWs** \- Extra work. Homework, essentially.  
>  **House** \- Another word for the dormitory.  
>  ***Housemaster** \- Head of the individual houses (dormitory.)  
>  **Dame** \- This is a housekeeper of sorts. Each house has a Dame who sees to the boys, collects and delivers laundry bags, performs wake up calls and so on.  
>  **Chambers** \- Mid morning snack. Typically consists of toast with jam and things of that sort.  
>  **Messing** \- Afternoon tea typically taken in the Houses.  
>  **Hexameters** \- The simplest way to explain this is that it is a line of poetry in classic Greek or Latin. One of Eton's more traditional punishments was to make students write hexameters, usually a set of 100. This isn't used very often in the 21st century but Sebastian attended school through the 80's and early 90's.  
>  _-As a note:_ Corporal punishment was only phased out of Eton entirely in the 1980's.  
>  **Georgics** \- This is a poem written across four books. The Georgics were used as a particularly hard form of the Hexameter punishment, given when the punishment is 500+ hexameters. This is even less common in modern Eton.  
>  **Show-ups** \- Show ups are marked on especially good work done. It's kind of like a gold star that goes on record, signed and seen by various members of the Eton staff.  
>   
> 
> *There is also reference to a "house master" at the Moran manor, which is the butler who manages the estate when Augustus is not present. 
> 
> (This will be added on to.)


End file.
